


You Remember It All; When I Loved You So

by crossroadswrite



Series: Here We Are Again [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alive Hales, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Kate Argent Warning, M/M, Mates, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Post-Break Up, Still Werewolves, for two hot seconds there don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek takes a step forward and then stops. Stiles can see the way his muscles tense and tremble like he’s holding himself back by a hair.</p><p>“What-“ his voice breaks, he gets a little choked off and has to drop his eyes.</p><p>It’s been one year. He doesn’t think he can look at him after one year.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” he mumbles into the floor, knows that Derek will hear him.</p><p>“I-“</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Remember It All; When I Loved You So

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost a HUGE thank you to my amazing, beyond magnificent beta [ThroughTheTulips](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughTheTulips/pseuds/ThroughTheTulips). It was my absolute pleasure to work with you, this wouldn't be half as good if you didn't step in and helped me.
> 
> Secondly, you must go into this knowing that I am absolute trash and this was born because I was participating in CampNaNo and [Taylor Swift's 'All Too Well'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4r06C2zLSM) (where the title is also taken from) was playing and like most of the things I write I was like "yeAH BUT THIS SONG IS SO STEREK BECAUSE PICTURE THIS-". So yeah, completely based off of that song and written in one month which was a huge milestone for me.
> 
> Thirdly, I hope you enjoy yourself and if this, despite it's sappy sickly sweet ending, still leaves a little ache in your heart, know that I am writing a short sequel that will be nothing but tooth rotting fluff because that's the kind of loser I am.

“So this is it? We’re done? Just like that?”

Derek swallows down the lump in his throat. Bites down with too sharp fangs the urge to start crying.

“Just like that,” he says.

That’s not what he wants to say.

_No, we can do this._

_We’ll fix it._

_We’ll figure something out._

_I love you._

_… I love you._

“This is for the best.”

 _It’s for the best_.

~*~

Derek enters Beacon Hills and takes the turn that leads to the Preserve just before actually entering the city limits. He might be going a little over the speed limit but you can’t really blame him for that. He hasn’t seen his family, his pack, in what feels like _years_.

College is harder than he expected, not only because of the classes but also because he’s alone for the first time in ever.

Wolves don’t do very well without a pack. For Derek, who grew up surrounded by his family and constant affection, being all on his own in a foreign city was a little too harsh of a reality shift.

He’s only one hour away from Beacon Hills, though. He could never have gone too far. Especially because Erica and Boyd go to college with him and freshly turned wolves should not be too far from their Alpha in case of emergency.

They came up to BH a couple of weeks ahead of Derek to visit their family before they join up for the pack vacation. One month of uninterrupted Hale time.

 _Yay_. He just hopes someone hid the bottle of laced liquor from Aunt Mai, he’s not too sure how much he feels like bailing her out of jail for punching a lamp post because it was looking at her wrong. Again.

He doesn’t put much of his faith on that. The only thing Aunt Mai likes more than her alcohol is to pass judgment on other people’s lives.

Derek’s on the last mile of road before he has to turn down the beaten dirt path up to his house when something heavy lands on the roof.

He sighs, resigned, and lowers the passenger seat window so Cora can slither her way into the car.

“You’re back,” she says cheerfully, smiling wide. Derek knows better than to think that smile is for him. Cora’s just happy she gets to jump on the roof of his car.

Cora drops a kiss on his cheek and kicks her feet up on the console.

“It’s been a while big bro. You look like shit,” she remarks with a smile.

Derek scowls a little, reaches over to ruffle her hair just because he knows how much she hates it.

“Does Mom know you’ve been car jumping again?”

“What Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Derek snorts. “So she knows then. You’re going to get your ass kicked.”

Cora huffs like the petulant little brat she is. “I was careful. It’s not like there’s anyone on the road to actually see me do it.”

“You said that the last time,” he reminds her with a smirk, “and last time Mom had to explain to one of the good deputies of Beacon Hills why her tiny daughter was jumping on roofs of passing cars.”

“I’m _not_ tiny. I still have a growth spurt to go,” she says huffily, punching him on the shoulder. “Your di-“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m never hearing my little sister refer to my genitalia ever. That’s not happening.”

“Laura can say it.”

“Laura is a brat.”

She smirks. “Oh, I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

Derek sighs and turns to his house.

“So, how’s college been treating you? Seriously Der, you look terrible.”

“It’s been fine,” he says and he’s not even lying. College _has_ been fine. He likes it. He shares an apartment with Erica and Boyd, he goes to class. He even makes _friends_ albeit not as many as he used to have. He rules that out as growing up. You never have as many friends as you had in high school.

Boyd and Erica say he’s a sad sack of soggy marshmallows that avoids interaction, especially with people that show the slightest interest in him but it’s whatever.

Derek just doesn’t feel comfortable with people hitting on him. It makes something deep in his bowels twist unpleasantly and it makes him want to throw up everything he’s ever eaten in his life.  It brings this nasty flavor to his mouth that tastes like cheating, like _wrongness_.

He pretends he has no idea why.

 _(It’s for the best_.)

Cora presses her lips together but doesn’t say anything else and that’s why she’s his favorite sister. Cora never pushes when she knows it’s not wanted.

“Derek!” someone screeches and he doesn’t even need to look to see it’s Laura in all her glory, waving from the porch and bouncing one of their little cousins in her arms.

Derek’s momentarily concerned by how she just dumps the kid on the floor to rush to the car.

“Der-buns!” she says happily, throwing his car door open even before he’s got a chance to kill the engine and yanking him out, squishing him against her so hard that only the tips of his toes are touching the floor.

He hugs back, nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek.

“Lauri-lu,” he says in a mockery of her excited voice.

Laura puts him down and steps back, laugh lines adorning the corners of her mouth.

“You look like shit, little brother. Also, don’t call me that if you want to keep all your important bits.”

“Don’t call me Der-buns,” he counters.

“Respect your elders, shithead,” she smirks, pinching his cheek. “I see the beard is finally working for you. I like it, you should keep it.”

Derek scrubs a hand self-consciously through the scruff on his cheeks.

It’s the first time he lets his beard grow and he’s not too sure about it. He kinda likes it and it works well enough at keeping people away if he throws a scowl and a growl in the mix.

“Who’s home?”

“Just Dad, Mom, Aunt Mai, Uncle Peter and some of the kids. Everyone else is out shopping or at work.”

“You’re alone with the kids and the house is still standing. I’m impressed.”

If there are more kids than adults in the house it’s always a miracle all the furniture is still intact.

Laura cuffs him upside the head. “What did I just tell you about respecting your elders?”

Derek shrugs and drops a quick kiss on her cheek before going to get his suitcase from the trunk and heading towards the house.

“Learn to turn off the engine, idiot,” Cora shouts throwing the car keys at his head and pouting when Derek catches them easily and pockets them.

“Thanks Cor.”

He’s only able to take a couple of steps forward before Charlie comes toddling down the steps and makes a run for him, a big grin stretching her face as she makes grabby hands towards him.

“Unca De!” she squees, begging for him to pick her up.

Derek fixes a grin just for her and scoops her up under his arm, carrying her like that until he can dump his stuff inside the house and properly say hi.

“Hey, Charlie,” he smiles, throwing her up in the air.

She startles and shifts midair, immediately breaking out in giggles.

“You’ve gotten _so big_ ,” he coos.

“I’m the biggest,” she says proudly, posing like a tiny Wonder Woman with both hands on her hips and chin held high.

“Yes you are,” he says solemnly. “Where’s Momma and Ma?”

“Momma is at work,” she says solemnly, “Papa is helpin’ Ma in the woods. There’s only TomTom and Katie and Day. Evwyone is gone.”

Derek kisses her forehead and sets her down. “Don’t worry, Charls, I’ll play with you,” he promises.

The other kids only play with Charlie on a whim since she’s only four and most of them are eight and up in age. There’s of course little Day being barely two and that couldn’t do much but toodle after Charlie and cry until she got the toy Charlie had been using at the moment.

“Is Stiles coming to play too?”

Derek freezes, white knuckling the handle of his suitcase. He feels the plastic creak beneath his palm and he very slowly lets go, trying to shake the feeling that he’s just been punched in the gut.

“Charlie, come play with me! We can play astronauts,” Cora says in an overly excited voice and Derek had forgotten they were even there. He had just. Forgotten, too focused on Charlie and how _much_ she had grown while he had been away at college.

Laura’s by his side in a second, picking up his suitcase with a swift, gracious movement, and gently herding him up the staircase and towards his bedroom.

“I still haven’t said hi to Mom and Dad,” he says flatly, skin pulled too tight over his muscles. It’s too hot all of a sudden, too constricting.

It’s pitiful how with just a handful of innocent words the scale tipped too far and Derek feels unbalanced again.

He had been doing _good_. He had been doing passably so. He was _fine_.

_(It’s for the best.)_

“Don’t worry about it, Mom’s talking to Dr. Deaton and Dad is probably terrorizing the twins.”

Derek snorts and lets Laura guide him into his room and push him down on the bed, throwing his bag in a corner.

“I’m not an invalid. I’m not going to break just because I heard his name.” His throat clicks, his hands tremble finely and he tucks them carefully under his thighs.

“I know,” Laura allows.

Derek’s grateful she’s not calling him on it. She can be a good sister like that sometimes.

Laura sits next to him. “We’re worried about you, Der.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to be. I’ll get over it.”

“It’s been a year,” she points out calmly. “Erica says you almost threw up when a girl kissed you.”

“I had too much to drink.”

“You’re a werewolf. Unless you downed three bottles of tequila, I doubt that anything would’ve made you throw up like that.”

Derek huffs and goes to get up. Laura pushes him down again.

“We’re _worried_.”

“So you’ve said.”

“We talked to Dr. Deaton even. He didn’t commit to anything but he _hinted_.”

“I’m surprised he did that much.”

“We think Stiles was your ma-“

“Don’t say it.”

He gets up and strides away.

“Derek-“

“No. I’m- I’m _coping_. I’m _fine_ and I don’t need you to mess that up.”

 _(It’s for the best_.)

“You’re not being fair, we’re your family we have the right to-“

“It’s my life, and I can make my own deci-“

“Erica told us you can’t fully shift anymore.”

Derek deflates like a popped balloon, except no, that’s not a good comparison at all. He doesn’t suddenly go bang, startling everyone around him and exploding into tiny bits. It’s more like one of those helium balloons that can last for weeks high up on your ceiling and then slowly the helium leaks out and it deflates, bit by bit, until it’s just a sad mess of crumpled plastic on the floor.

“It’s not a big deal,” he dismisses.

So what he lost his full shift. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Not a- Are you serious, right now?” Laura sounds actually upset by it. “You could go _full shift_. Only Mom can do it. I’m the next fucking Alpha and _I_ can’t do it. And you could, just like that,” she snaps her fingers for emphasis, “because it was so easy for you to do it and then he leaves and look at you! You’re a mess!”

Derek bares his teeth, might even growl a little.

“Yes, thank you for the reminder that I had to break up with my fucking ma- _boyfriend_ because I was born with a bad case of lycanthropy and he would’ve gotten hurt. _Thank you_ for reminding me of all that I’ve lost just because I can grow fangs, just because there’s fucking hunters who would stop at nothing to see us hurt.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it! _Plenty_ of people in our family, in our _pack_ are humans. Even more of them married in and then were turned by _choice_ so don’t give me that kind of bullshit because we both know that you were just sca-“

“That’s enough.”

His mother walks in the door calmly but her voice is like a knife, effectively cutting Laura’s tirade.

They both quiet down.

“Laura, you’re being unfair to your brother.”

“But he just-“

“ _Laura_ ,” his mother says warningly, “an Alpha doesn’t lose their composure. An Alpha-“

“Remains calm through arguments. An Alpha is the voice of reason and the stabilizer of the pack.”

Laura starts rubbing her temples like they hurt. It almost makes Derek want to hug her. _Almost_.

“And Derek, that’s no way to treat your sister, I know you’re upset-“

He snorts at the term.

“I know you’re upset but shouting won’t solve anything. You’re supposed to be our future pack liaison, you can _not_ lose your composure every time someone says something you don’t like.”

Derek takes in a deep breath, “Right. You’re right.”

Talia gives him one of her smiles, going from ‘Alpha Talia Hale’ to ‘Derek’s Momma that he used to cling to when he was little’ in point three seconds flat.

“ _Obviously_. I’m always right,” she grins, stepping forward and wrapping her secure arms around him, rubbing their cheeks together. “You smell like college and other people,” she chastises. “Go take a shower, Bunny.”

“Mom,” he huffs, “I’m not a bunny, stop.”

His mother grins and taps his lips right over where his two front teeth drop a little too much, giving him what everyone he knows likes to call bunny teeth. He’s pretty sure they’re hereditary. Even if almost no one in his family has them.

“Go take a shower,” she orders, “and then you can go to the Farmer’s Market with your father for some bonding time.”

She’s giving him an out so both he and Laura can calm down a little and he’s grateful for it. He’s really not looking forward to spending an entire month with his family if it’s all going to be like this.

Talia leans over and kisses his forehead. “It’s good to have you back home.”

“It’s good to be home.”

Mom grins. “And you almost mean it too.”

Derek huffs at her like the petulant kid he hasn’t completely grown out of being yet and picks his stuff up to get his shower ready.

 

 

Stiles parks his Jeep in front of his house and almost keels out the door to fall asleep on the warm pavement.

He’s so tired lately. College hasn’t been a cakewalk like high school had been for him and while it isn’t impossible it’s still a little ways to adjust.

He has to deal with all these new classes and meeting new people and an entirely different social environment. At least he liked it as much as he thought he would. It’s good, he’s in a good college.

 _The college of my dreams_ , he thinks bitterly.

Stiles shakes himself out of it and hops out of his beloved Jeep, picking up a suitcase from the trunk and heading inside.

The cruiser isn’t parked in front of the house so he doesn’t have much hope for anyone to be home, which sucks because he drove from college to come back to an empty house and a stale room.

He sighs wearily and fiddles with his keys to open the door unwilling to be alone until dinnertime. Stiles doesn’t have a very good relationship with empty houses. He still remembers when his mother was death sick on the hospital and he had to stay home all alone, flinching at every single little sound.

The door is thrown back before he can man up and open it, his mother’s smile greeting him.

She pulls him close and envelops him in a bear hug so strong he fears for his ribs.

“My baby boy is back home,” she sighs happily.

Stiles lets his bag drop on the floor and hugs back just as tightly, even lifts her up on her tip toes because she secretly likes it, even if she always complains about how a child shouldn’t carry their mother.

“Hey Mom,” he mumbles against her shoulder.

Claudia pulls back and takes his cheeks in both hands, scrutinizing his face. “Oh baby, you look awful,” she says worriedly, running a thumb over the valley that is Stiles’ dark circles.

“Loads of studying,” he dismisses easily, dropping his eyes down and shuffling away.

“Don’t lie to your mother. If you’re going to do it, at least try to be convincing,” she chastises.

Stiles snorts and picks up his bag, following his mom inside.

“Your father took tomorrow off so we can all spend the day together,” she tells him with her usual smile, laugh lines marring the corners of her mouth and eyes.

Stiles is on his way to twenty and he still thinks his mother is one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever seen. She’s like sunlight.

He has no idea what he would’ve done if she had died from that godforsaken sickness. Luckily Dr. Deaton managed to help out (by being cryptic and intensely staring at Stiles until he kind of, more or less, got what he needed to do) and now she’s as bright as ever.

“Cool. Are we going to the park or something?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I suggested we break into the old theatre but your dad was all ‘No illegal activities, Claudia. I’m an officer of the law, Claudia’.” She makes a face like such behavior is just distasteful and Stiles laughs.

“And people ask why I’m such a deviant.”

His mother winks. “For every rule there must be an exception honeybuns. _Be_ the exception.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” he tells her.

Mom takes a plate of curly fries from where it had been kept warm in the oven and sets it in front of him.

“I take everything back. You are the best mother and obviously I should follow in your steps.”

Claudia rubs a hand over his hair where it’s still in that weird growing stage. “Did you buzz your hair while you were at college, squirrel?”

Stiles twists his nose, chews the curly fries he had shoved in his mouth down and licks his lips. “Don’t call me that. I’m not eight anymore. And yeah. I decided to try it out again.”

“And?”

Stiles shrugs.

Claudia takes a seat beside him. “Shaving your hair won’t mend your broken heart.”

“The heart is a muscle. It can’t be broken, only crushed.”

“That sounds much more dramatic to say. A crushed heart.”

Stiles breathes out and decides to ignore that heart crushing is much more an accurate metaphor than heart breaking. You can always grab a little bit of super glue and patch up a broken heart, but if your heart is _crushed_ like a herd of angry elephants stampeded over your chest then there’s no hope to put it back together.

Stiles clearly has spent too much time with certain people if he’s being this dramatic about it.

He makes the executive decision to shove a handful of curly fries in his mouth and keep quiet.

“You still don’t want to talk about it?” his mother prods gently.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Not even the fact that Derek crushed your heart?”

The fries turn sour in his mouth. He pushes the rest of the plate away.

“He didn’t. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Claudia’s eyes turn sad around the edges and Stiles _hates_ himself for putting that look there.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he tells her, feeling a little bit bad that he’s putting his mom’s hard work to waste but something in his stomach is coiling unpleasantly and he just _can’t_.

“Why don’t you go put your things in your room and drive me to the shop? Your Dad will pass by the Farmer’s Market and be home in a bit and this way you can entertain yourself until he arrives.”

Stiles is dead tired, but he has trouble saying no to his mom and he would like to see his dad today before they all go out tomorrow and inevitably run into a bajillion people that will distract them from their family bonding time.

“Alright,” he says easily and leans over to drop a kiss on his mom’s forehead, “let me wash up a little bit.”

Claudia smiles at him like she’s proud or something, and something in his chest settles.

“Alright. I love you, kochanie.”

“Love you too, Mama.”

 

 

“Dad,” Derek calls out, poking his head in the green house. “I’m ready.”

Lyall pokes his head over a flower bed and grins up at him, eyes turning into slits with the force of his beam. “Hi Ready, I’m dad.”

Derek groans. “Dad, no.”

His father gets up and dusts off his jeans, enveloping Derek in a hug and patting his back.

“Let me look at you,” he says, pulling back and placing both hands on Derek’s shoulders. “You’ve seen better days, son.”

Derek gives him a rueful little smile. Figures his dad would have the most tact while saying he looked like he just came from a five month bender.

“College is hard,” he tries.

Lyall nods, “Right, of course it is. You’ll get through it,” he says confidentially, patting Derek on the cheek once and moving back to his flowers.

See, this is why he likes his dad best. He doesn’t push. He gives Derek space to come to him on his own. After the brea- _after_ it was his dad that Derek had run to first with his heart broken for the first time.

“Aren’t we going to the farmer’s market?”

Lyall blinks up confusedly at him.

His phone beeps loudly in his pocket. He takes it out and frowns down at it for a couple of seconds before shaking his head and pocketing it again.

“I can’t. But I have a couple of things I asked the guys over there to save up for me. And Marcus should be waiting with the new apple tree I ordered. If you could pick them up for me?”

Derek frowns at him.

“I was planning on going later but,” he shrugs, points down at the neat row of flowers in bloom, “I need to play some Mozart for the late bloomers.”

Derek snorts.

“Fine. Don’t think I don’t know something’s up.”

Lyall waves a hand. “Your mother’s doing, you know how she is.”

“Meddlesome. Just like the rest of my family.”

“They’re just worried, Der.”

Derek huffs. “They could be worried in a less aggressive way, don’t you think?”

Lyall snorts.

“Take the pickup,” he advises, throwing the keys in Derek’s general direction; he catches them easily. “Don’t scratch her.”

“I’m not Laura.”

“I heard that!” Laura shouts from somewhere in the house.

“Good!” he shouts back.

“You’re upsetting my dahlias with all that shouting, Derek,” his father chastises.

Derek rolls his eyes and wonders if there are any chances of him having a normal family member. Chances are pretty low.

As he walks in, he passes Aunt Mai in the kitchen with a cocktail glass in her hand and looking at the open fridge like she’s contemplating the deep secrets of the universe.

“Hey, Aunt Mai.”

She smirks at him and raises her glass in his direction as a form of hello. “Derek. You stink of heartbreak, kiddo. See that you get that fixed, it’s quite unpleasant.”

Sometimes Derek wonders why someone like Aunt Mai married Uncle Peter committing herself to a town as small as Beacon Hills and to a barely controlled step-daughter, but then she opens her mouth and he remembers immediately.

He opts to ignore her. “Have you seen Charlie?”

“Peter went to drop her off at the shop where Alexis works,” she tells him. “Don’t worry about her, darling. She just wanted an excuse to get out of the house, really.”

“Right,” he mutters, feeling terrible for apparently having scared his littlest cousin out of the house. “Anyway I’m going out, I should be back in an hour or so.”

Aunt Mai gives him her trademark I-know-things smile and mutters just loud enough for him to hear, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Derek squints threateningly at her before turning on his heel and heading towards where the pickup is parked in front of the house.

The pickup is exactly how he remembers it, shining metallic faded blue under the suffocating Californian sun.

He almost turns on his heel and heads right back inside the house with some excuse as to why he can’t touch the truck.

Then he tells himself he’s being a pissbaby and sucks it up.

 _(It’s for the best_.)

It’s just a pickup truck.

Derek hops in and starts the car, grateful that time cleared Stiles’ scent from it. He doesn’t think he could handle that kind of torture right this second.

The farmer’s market is in the old warehouse district which is coincidentally in the same direction that the sun is shining from, and Derek like a moron forgot his sunglasses.

He pushes the visor down so he won’t go blind and his eyes catch a little slip of unassuming paper. Two slips to be exact.

He glances at the road to make sure he won’t drive into a tree before he pries the two papers loose, immediately regretting his decision to do so.

~*~

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Stiles argues, going straight to the snack stand so he can get more candy as if he singlehandedly didn’t just eat a bucket of popcorn that could fit a small child.

“It’s a sci-fi movie. Sharks came out of tornados. _How_ wasn’t it that bad?” Derek raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “How did they even decide to run it at the theater. I feel like I need to have a talk to the manager about his mental stability.”

Stiles snorts a laugh, inelegant and beautiful like he always is.

“Don’t be like that, Der,” he grins, bumping their shoulders together, hand tightly clasped in Derek’s. “It’s B Horror, it was _made_ to be shit.”

He twists his nose but smiles back at Stiles. “It would’ve been if that one woman a couple of rows in front of us didn’t gasp every time something dramatic happened.”

Stiles scrunches his nose up adorably at him, knowing that Derek is only being contrary because it riles him up.

“Fine, Mr. Grumpypants. Be that way, but you’re buying my candy. You’re my boyfriend. You should provide for me,” Stiles says wisely.

“Should I?” he raises an eyebrow.

Stiles grins, “Absolutely.”

Derek completely ignores how his wolf basically purrs at that and tugs Stiles closer to the snack counter where Stiles proceeds to order an exorbitant amount of candy and then nod over at Derek when the cashier tells them the total.

He sighs and goes to let go of Stiles’ hand to get his wallet but Stiles holds him tighter and his grin turns a little mischievous.

“I can’t reach my wallet like this.”

“Oh, really,” he blinks big wet innocent eyes at him, “I’ll help you with that.”

Stiles steps forward until they’re nose to nose and slinks his way into Derek’s back pocket.

“You’re doing it out of the kindness of your heart, I see.”

Stiles somehow manages to get his wallet out and squeeze his butt in the process.

“I’m a very charitable person. You know how I like helping others.”

Derek kisses the tip of his nose. “You’re an idiot, that’s what.”

“But you love me,” Stiles says smugly.

“Not if you make me watch B Horror movies again about sharks coming out of tornados.”

Derek pays the nice girl behind the register that’s eyeing them like they’re her favorite show, and promptly starts tugging Stiles away.

“Who doesn’t like B Horror. It’s just- I don’t know if we can date anymore. Those movies are masterpieces.”

“Your ass is a masterpiece,” he counters and just to prove his point lets go of Stiles’ hand and shoves it in his back pocket, giving it a squeeze.

Derek is a man of science at heart, he likes to back up his statements with empirical proof.

“You’re a menace,” Stiles grumbles. “I’m not sharing any of my candy with you.”

Derek steals his M&M’s and immediately shoves a handful in his mouth, chewing obnoxiously.

Stiles laughs, “Joke’s on you because I don’t like M&M’s with peanut in them.”

“I think we can’t date anymore,” Derek tells him around a mouthful, “How can you only like the chocolate ones?”

“How can you not like B Horror movies?”

“They’re shit.”

“Exactly.”

Derek snorts, getting the keys for pick-up he borrowed from his Dad and opening the doors for them.

“Yet, you still buy them.”

“Yet, you still come with me to these showings.”

“Touché,” Derek concedes, leaning over the console and smacking a wet kiss over Stiles’ mouth because, well, he can.

Stiles gives him this dopey little grin, leaning forward for another kiss. And then another. And just one more, for the road.

Ugh, they’re _that_ kind of disgusting boyfriends.

“Wanna park in the picnic area and make out?” Stiles offers, wiggling his eyebrows in a completely ridiculous, oddly charming way.

Derek sighs dramatically, presses down on his grin. “If we must.”

Stiles punches him in the shoulder. “See if you’re getting blowies now.”

Derek starts up the car and drives off, barely keeping the speed limit, watching from the corner of his eyes as Stiles throws his head back and laughs with his entire body, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re ridiculously easy, Derek Hale.”

Derek gives him his best sappy smile. “Just for you, baby.”

Stiles scrunches up his nose adorably and huffs a short laugh.

“Idiot,” he mutters, but leans over to smooch his cheek.

“We should keep these,” Stiles says after a moment, looking down critically at the tickets.

“For what? Do you want to put them in your scrapbook?”

“Maybe I do. I mean, it is our six month anniversary.”

“I still can’t believe we’re _that_ couple.” Derek shakes his head.

“Me neither. Erica keeps giving me shit about it.”

“At least we’re not like Scott and Allison.”

“Thank God for small mercies.”

Stiles takes off his seatbelt and leans over the driver’s seat, pulling the visor down and tucking the tickets there.

“For safe keeping.”

“You’re gonna forget it there,” Derek tells him because he _knows_ he will.

“No, I won’t.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at the road and hopes Stiles can see it from his angle.

“Okay, I might. But that’s what I have you for. You’ll remind me.”

Derek rolls his eyes because he also knows he’ll probably forget it too.

“You’re an idiot.”

“ _You’re_ an idiot. Now drive Hale, you’re cute and I want to shove my hand down your pants.”

Derek almost swerves off the road.

“You’re ridiculously easy,” he throws the words back at Stiles.

Stiles grins at him like the sun, shoves a bunch of candy in his mouth and talks around it in probably the most unattractive way possible. “Just for you, baby.”

Derek has never been so in love with anyone in his entire life, never even felt so incredibly fond of someone like he is of Stiles.

He hopes it lasts.

~*~

Derek has to pull over to the side of the road and just breathe for a moment.

 _It’s for the best_. He has to remind himself constantly. It’s the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up and the last before he goes to sleep.

He repeats it over and over throughout his days and maybe, _just maybe,_ someday he’ll believe it too.

 

 

His mother’s shop is a fairly simple affair. It’s small and crammed with antiques that seem to pile up to the roof. It smells like slightly damp wood, old books and dust, despite everyone’s attempts to keeping it clean and tidy.

It’s also down the road that leads to the picnic area and it’s not that Stiles doesn’t like driving by this road but he just doesn’t like driving by this road.

He and Derek used to drive down this road all the time when they were going to or from their favored make-out spot, when they visited Stiles’ mom, or just because they needed to get out of their houses for a little bit and driving around town for a while was the best option.

There’s exactly two stop lights on the two way street.

This was where Stiles got his first ticket, from his dad nonetheless.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and switches the radio station, then does it again.

Claudia remains blessedly silent in the passenger seat.

Stiles crosses his fingers and wishes upon a star that the stop light will be green and won’t stop him and make him stare at the street more than he has too, and yes it’s just so fucking stupid all of it is stupid as all shit but, but it’s also not.

He goes slow, not to trigger it or something and because the entire universe hates him, the light turns red just as he’s almost home free.

He sighs, defeated.

Such is his fate apparently and he’s forced to look at it.

The storefronts are still the same. Nothing seems to have changed in the year he was gone; the trees lining the sidewalk are heavy in bloom and the playground across the street from his mother’s shop is filled with shouting kids.

He squeezes the steering wheel, decides to squeeze his eyes too against the familiarity of it.

~*~

“Stop that,” Derek admonishes, slapping Stiles’ hand away from the radio.

“I don’t like this song,” Stiles whines, going for it again which results in Derek slapping his hand again.

“I like this song.”

“This is old people music, Der.”

“This is _tasteful_ music,” he says snottily and Stiles has to laugh at that, of course he does.

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches up and the asshole totally did that on purpose to distract him. Idiot.

Stiles reaches for the radio again, fully expecting to get his hand slapped away, but instead Derek slots their fingers together and pulls his hand away, taking it hostage.

“I’m driving.”

“It’s a calm street, you don’t need both hands.”

Derek kisses the back of his hand because he’s actually made of sickeningly sweet candy inside and Stiles is pretty much sold on this whole hand holding thing.

“Don’t let my dad hear you say that. He’ll throw your ass in jail.”

Derek grins smugly,” Your dad _likes_ me. I’m a _nice kid_.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, glancing at Derek quickly, “How _ever_ you managed to trick him into thinking that will forever be a mystery.”

“It’s only fair. My family likes you too.”

“I like your family. They’re a bunch of awesome weirdos.”

“They’re not that-” Derek stops himself and huffs, “Why am I even arguing? Yes, they are a bunch of weirdos.”

Stiles laughs and turns towards his mom’s street so he can make a pit stop at her shop before they continue to their make out spot to possibly traumatize some elderly men playing chess.

Derek changes the station on the radio and Stiles glares slightly. Derek gives him a completely unapologetic grin.

“Scruffy looking nerf herder,” Stiles mutters under his breath and this time when Derek laughs it’s his fond one, the one that makes him tilt his head away like he doesn’t want anyone to see it, the one where his bunny teeth peek out in the most adorable way and his eyes crinkle up and god Stiles is such a sucker for this boy.

He’s so in love it hurts sometimes, the good kind of hurt, like after going through a particularly grueling lacrosse game but winning and all the effort you’ve put was worth it even if you’re sore and you’ll maybe have a mark.

Except that wouldn’t be a good comparison because it’s _so much easier_ than anything Stiles has ever done.

Falling in love with Derek Hale was for him as easy and normal as tripping up over his own feet, but instead of a broken nose he gets bunny teeth and eye crinkles and impossible sweetness finely coated with sarcasm and cockiness.

“Stiles!” Derek startles and Stiles reflexively hits the brakes.

“What? What.”

“You almost ran the red light,” he tells him with a frown, “there’s a crosswalk ahead. You have to be more careful.”

“I got distracted,” he tells him apologetically, wincing when he looks at the disapproving father passing the crosswalk with a child in hand and a dog on a leash.

“By what?” Derek squints at him as if he’ll find out if he does it long enough, and then his eyes promptly fly open and his mouth drops a little in surprise, “Did- did you get distracted by my face.”

Stiles remains quiet and definitely not blushing because he was caught being an absolute sap.

Derek starts laughing again, “You idiot. This is why we can’t have nice things, you know.”

“Because your face looks like sunshine when you smile?”

Derek blushes all the way to the tips of his ears and Stiles pats himself on the back.

“No, dumbass. Because you always get distracted by how hot I am.”

“To be fair, you’re pretty hot. Go me for having scored that.”

Derek rolls his eyes and changes the radio station back to his _tasteful music_.

“Idiot,” he mutters again.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Derek looks at him like he just hung the moon, “Like you love me.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re kind of ridiculous aren’t we?”

“Just a little.”

“We should do something dangerous immediately to drown the sappiness we’re swimming in.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “Like what?”

Stiles grins, “Like skinny dipping in the lake.”

“Stiles no.”

The light turns green and Stiles is off, doing an illegal u-turn and heading back towards the preserve.

“Stiles yes!” he cackles.

Derek sinks in his seat and groans, one hand covering his eyes but the joke’s on him because Stiles can totally see the little smile he’s got going on.

~*~

“Stiles, baby, it’s green,” his mother’s hand on his arm shakes him out of whatever funk he worked himself into.

As if to support her words a car honks loudly and rudely behind him.

“Right. Of course.” He hits the gas and accelerates down the street.

“You should talk about it with someone, kochanie,” she advises kindly.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re smarter than that. I’m your mother. You should know by now that I will always look after you. Just like you look after me. We look after-“

“Each other. Yes, I know. You’ve only been repeating it since I was smart enough to understand simple concepts.”

His mother grins at him, bright and gorgeous. Stiles misses smiling like that. He misses seeing a smile like that on someone who really matters.

“Then you should already know it by now.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and parks in front of the store, quickly hopping out of his car and circling around to open the door for his mother.

“Such a gentleman. Maybe I raised you right after all.”

She links their arms together and walks with him towards her little antiques shop.

“Your doubts in my gentlemanery wound me, Mother.”

She pinches his cheek with a grin and steps inside.

As soon as he’s inside something small and squishy slams against his legs with a high pitched squeal of “’Tiles!”

He looks down to see Charlie grinning toothily at him, little eyes alight. Her dark hair is in two messy short braids and she looks just as cute as she did the last time he saw her.

“Charls.” He smiles, picks her up and throws her in the air which makes her shift and giggle.

He quickly holds her up to his chest and makes sure there are no customers in the shop.

“How’re you, Charls?” He smiles down at the little girl who’s currently making a grab for Stiles’ ear so she can play with it. It’s a thing for some little kids. Ears. Stiles never understood it but then again according to his mom he had a weird thing for shoving his fingers up people’s nostrils when he was little so really who is he to judge?

“Good, good, good,” she says, tugging a little on his ear and frowning. “Sad,” she says after a beat.

“Why are you sad, baby?”

“Unca De is sad so I’m sad.”

Stiles freezes and his throat clogs up. This is fucking stupid. It’s been a year.

“You’re sad too ‘Tiles. Is it ‘cause you and Unca De don’t play no more?”

Stiles sets her down gently, “Yeah.”

“You look like shit, loser,” someone pipes up from the counter and Stiles turns to see Alexis standing there, gorgeous like every single Hale seems to be.

“Jesus, it’s like you’re taking over my life.”

She rolls her eyes and goes around the counter to bear hug him. “God, it’s been too long since I last saw you.”

Stiles hugs back because out of the two siblings Talia has, Alexis is definitely his favorite. Then again his other choice would be Peter Hale and just no.

“I missed you too,” he mumbles, lets a woman that’s several inches shorter than him lift him off his feet.

She leans back and grins up at him. Stiles somehow drudges up a tiny little smile. Just because she used to be his favorite.

“We miss you back home, you know. All of us.”

Stiles looks down at the floor because he doesn’t know what else to do.

What are you supposed to say to the Aunt of your ex-boyfriend when she tells you her entire family misses you. No one writes handbooks on this shit. Throw ‘wolves in the mix and it gets more complicated. Throw a burned out spark in the mix and it’s just an ABC prime-time family dramedy waiting to happen.

“Come on.” Alexis tugs him towards the counter. “I have something to show you.”

“If it’s someone’s di-“ he looks at Charlie and amends himself, “-manly bits again I swear. Especially if it’s Daniel’s manly bits. I don’t want to see your boyfriend’s manly bits. Or your girlfriend’s womanly bits for that matter.”

He makes a face and Lexis laughs at him, like every single Hale does and it’s good. It’s familiar. This right here was what he expected to get for the rest of his life.

“I promise it isn’t a dick pic.”

“How you can swear in front of your four year old I’ll never understand,” he admonishes, but follows.

“It’s fun to see the old people at the grocery look scandalized every time she swears.”

“You’re a terrible mother,” he informs her. “No one should allow you to have kids ever.”

She only laughs at him.

 

 

Derek walks around the farmer’s market, looking a little lost and peering from stall to stall, trying to remember what Marcus looks like. He can’t really be blamed for forgetting, after all he had been barely sixteen the last time he had seen the man.

He doesn’t even know if Marcus _is_ here. This can all be a ploy by his mother for… _something_. He’s not quite sure yet, but he’ll figure it out eventually.

Stiles would find out what it was for sure. He’d just spew a dozen ideas until one clicked and then he’d spin a conspiracy theory and a half from that and Derek would listen, enable a little here and there because there was nothing more gorgeous than when Stiles got really excited about something.

He shakes his head and looks down at where his hands are squeezing a pair of melons this side of too tight, claws itching to poke out.

“Are you going to buy them or just keep molesting my fruit?” the stall owner inquires, one eyebrow arched as she pops her gum.

Derek’s sure he’s blushing to the tips of his ears. He clears his throat and jerks his head in something resembling a nod. “Yeah- yeah, I’d- like to buy them.”

Another short girl elbows the first one. “Stop scaring the clients, Kat.”

She tugs on her little straw hat nervously and gives him a smile. “Sorry about her, don’t feel bullied into buying them. If my mom hears we’re harassing the clients she’ll kick our asses.”

“No, it’s fine. I like melons.”

Kat leans over, displaying her cleavage.

“Not- _not like that_ ,” Derek hurries out and she laughs, gets elbowed again.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t sue us for sexual harassment.”

Derek shifts a little uncomfortably, drops his eyes to the floor. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll just take this.”

The girl dimples at him and bags the fruit, sending Kat to see how much he needs to pay. Then she squints at him and dumps a couple of peaches and cherries in there too.

“You’re gonna need these,” she tells him.

“I don’t think I can pay for those.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. You’re gonna _need them_ ,” she makes eyebrows at him like he’s supposed to know exactly what that means. He doesn’t.

Derek squints a little at her. “How do you know?”

“Call it a sixth sense,” she smiles gently, shooing him with a hand.

Derek decides to let it go because he has too much to worry about as it is, like his mother’s impending destruction of his entire life. At least that’s what he’s assuming will result in her little plot to… _something._

He should find out. Maybe if he bribes Cora.

She likes pomegranates, the weirdo. So maybe if he gets her some she’ll spill her guts.

Derek turns, set on his quest for pomegranates, and almost smacks head first into the Sheriff.

 _Shit_.

He’s going to get kidnapped by the Sheriff and murdered. He had been wondering why the Beacon Hills Police Department in full force hadn’t come down on him and quietly and thoroughly chopped him to pieces.

This is why. They had been biding their time.

Or maybe the Sheriff just wants to say hello and he needs to stop spending so much time with Uncle Peter. His flare for the dramatics is obviously contagious.

“Derek,” the Sheriff starts and Derek very carefully thinks about the best escape route in this situation. Whatever this is going to be about it can’t be good.

“Sheriff,” he says politely, wondering if the Sheriff is past publically humiliating him.

Somehow what he does is worse than Derek could have ever imagined.

“How’ve you been, son?” he asks, concern tinting his voice.

Derek feels like crying.

“I-“ He swallows through the sudden lump in his throat. “I’ve uh-“

“You don’t look too good.”

There’s this theory that states it’s sometimes easier to open up to a stranger.

Sheriff Stilinski was not a stranger by any stretch of the word though.

Sheriff Stilinski was the man who had threatened him by cleaning his hunting rifle and then when he was sure Derek was completely serious about Stiles had pulled him close and given him advice because he knew his son took after his mother and the blood that runs in their veins could be tricky to deal with, being prone to flares and violent rushes and easy going flows in the span of a few seconds.

Derek had a big tight knitted family and he knew that small families sometimes trusted less, he knew that parents didn’t approve of their children’s partners, but the Stilinskis almost right from the beginning had insisted he call them by their first names and treated him to little family trips and dinners.

“I’m not okay,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper. Maybe Sheriff Stilinski won’t hear him if he talks low enough, maybe if he talks low enough the truth won’t break him.

“Come on, kiddo,” the sheriff gently coaches, tugging him along, “I think this has gone for long enough, don’t you?”

“Where are we-“

“My house.”

Derek drags his heels, makes the Sheriff stop in his tracks. The Sheriff looks at him like he’s a five year old throwing a tantrum at the mall. Derek has to fight not to feel like it.

“I can’t. I can’t just _go_. It’s- Stiles wouldn’t want me there.”

The Sheriff looks him over. “Derek, do you know why I didn’t send every single deputy of Beacon Hills to stop you every time you got into a car. Or even call you into the Station for the littlest infraction after you broke up with my son?”

Derek swallows, shakes his head once, clutching at his bag of fruit anxiously.

“Because I saw how you looked at my son, even when you two were fighting I saw how you looked at him. I knew your parents for a long time, Talia longer than Lyall, but every single person in Beacon Hills knew about them and how some foreigner had won the heart of your mother.

“You have to understand back then, there were a lot of men chasing after her. Some women too, and not just because you come from a wealthy family. And then along comes Lyall and somehow he charmed her. You should’ve seen how he looked at her, like she was his entire world and he would go to war, no matter how stupid it was, just for her.

“He still looks at her like that. Your father is a great man, Derek. Do you see my point?”

Derek does but he doesn’t want to.

His mom and dad are mates, meant to be and nothing short of an apocalypse could tear them apart, and even then Derek highly doubts there’s something in this world that would make them stay apart for long.

“Your mom called after you two broke up. She asked how Stiles was and said she was sorry and we should cancel our next dinner together. And before she could finish your sister snatched the phone from her and told me she was sorry you were a butthead and that you were really sorry and that she couldn’t watch her show over the sounds of you crying.”

Derek’s more than a little embarrassed by that, but it had been _Stiles_ and Stiles was everything. Still is, despite his best attempts at letting go.

The Sheriff shakes his head and he looks almost fond. “I’m pretty sure the phone passed through most of the family that night. I know how much you care about Stiles and how much he cares about you. He skypes us from college from time to time and he always looks sad.

“He doesn’t ever mention a boy or a girl he likes or that just caught his eye. Scott always looks worried.

“Son, I don’t know what the problem was, but I know if it’s been a _year_ and if you’re both still as miserable as when it happened, then maybe you should talk to each other and sort some  things out.”

Derek wants to be convinced. It’d be so so easy to just do what the Sheriff says, follow him home and talk to Stiles. It’d be _so easy_.

He doesn’t think life is supposed to be easy.

“It’s- it’s not that simple. There’s things that could hurt him. I could-“

“If the next words out of your mouth is that you could hurt him I’m going to smack you upside the head,” the Sheriff promises. “The only time I’ve seen you hurt my son was when you broke up with him and I’m asking you to fix it.”

“But he could-“

“Derek,” the Sheriff sighs, and then he admits, “I’ve been talking to your mother. She hinted you’d be here today and I have it in good authority that whatever excuses you’re telling yourself aren’t valid enough for you both to live miserably.”

“I-“ he swallows.

He’s hurting Stiles.

_(It’s for the best.)_

Derek hasn’t even caught a sniff of hunters in the last year. But that doesn’t mean that they’re gone.

_(It’s for the best.)_

That doesn’t mean that Kate Argent isn’t dead-set on exterminating werewolves and wouldn’t bat an eyelash if humans became collateral damage, like she had promised him over charming threats and pineapple perfume.

Derek _hates_ pineapple.

 _(It’s for the best_.)

He hasn’t heard of the Argents lately.

_(It’s for the best.)_

He’s hurting _Stiles_. Has been for an entire year. That’s on him. Not on any hunters or other supernaturals.

_(It’s for the best.)_

_(Isn’t it?)_

 

 

In retrospect, Stiles almost _wishes_ it was a dick pic.

At least he got half of it right, it is a pic. Actually it’s a full album of pictures and his breath catches when he sees it, the need to turn tail and bolt out the window clogging his lungs up.

The thing is a soft baby blue with embroidery stylized along the edges of the cover. Someone wrote in the three line of blank space in the middle _Stilinski-Hale_ in pen and he _can’t do this_. Why are people making him do this?

“I found this in one of the bottom drawers in Olivia’s dresser,” she starts awkwardly, flipping it open and tapping the page.

Baby Derek grins at him from one side of the album while the other is littered of pictures of him about the same age.

“They’re- they’re good pictures and I just- don’t want them to get thrown away you know. You were a part of this family Stiles, you still kind of are and if we can’t have you- if- I still want you to have _something_ to remember the happy times you had with us.”

She flips the page and there’s a big picture on the right side of middle school perhaps, when all the classes were put together to take a picture. Stiles is at the far corner, one arm thrown over Scott and one arm thrown over Heather while Derek is up and in the middle, mouth hanging open slightly, and eyes looking away.

“I think Olivia and Derek were preparing this together. As a surprise. I’m sorry they didn’t get to finish it.”

Alexis flips the page again and there’s a picture of Derek in the bathroom, looking in the mirror in deep concentration with his hands shoved in his hair, glittering slightly with hair gel. The caption say ‘bun’s first date’.

Stiles reaches for it tentatively and flips the page like a pain junkie, fingers shaking as he shoots up his next fix.

The next one is of a picnic or something. There’s Hales sprinkled across the entire picture but the focus is on Derek and Stiles in the center.

Derek sitting down, looking down at where Stiles is laying with his head in his lap, hands slightly blurry and caught mid-movement while he talks about something, a gentle quirk to his lips.

He flips a couple of pages ahead and Derek and Stiles stand on the Stilinski house stairway, slightly annoyed expressions because Claudia had already taken fifty thousand pictures before a school dance and she was begging for just one more.

Stiles drops it on the table, swallowing hard and presses his fists against his eyes, taking a moment, just one single moment to try and forget about it, just turn away and drive home and curl up under the covers and never come out.

“Stiles-“

It’s been a year for fuck’s sake.

He takes his hands off his eyes and focuses on a picture that fluttered to the ground.

It’s a recent one, that much Stiles can tell. Derek’s standing between Laura and Cora who both have arms thrown over his shoulders but he remains with his arms held stiffly over his chest, dark circles under his eyes and looking like if someone blew on him he’d keel over.

Alexis crouches to pick it up and sighs, stuffing it inside the album.

“Lex we’re not getting back together, don’t- don’t-“

She sighs, runs a hand through her hair, messing it up.

“I know, I _know,_ okay. I know Derek is being fucking stupid and you’re-“

 “It was his decision and-“ he swallows past the lump in his throat, promises himself he’s not going to cry, “and I want what’s best for him and if he thinks this is what’s best long term then I have to respect that.”

Her shoulders slump and she reaches to touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” And there’s another new thing for her. Being apologetic. “We just miss you, Stiles. All of us.”

He has to step away from that, he can’t just stand here and be reminded of a family he lost because Derek didn’t want to.

“I’m going home,” he announces.

And he does, turning on his heels and dropping distracted kisses on both his mom’s and Charlie’s foreheads and striding to the Jeep, trying not to hear Charlie ask if they can’t just set up a play date so ‘Tiles and Unca De will be happy again.

He _wishes_ like would be that easy. He also wishes he had just stayed at his fucking college for summer and away from all this drama. Everything is harder to deal with when he’s back in Beacon Hills and every little corner holds a memory.

Stiles drives home and manages not to break any traffic laws or break down into an ugly sobbing mess.

One year and he’s still wrecked by those every once in a while. They’re one of the reasons why he doesn’t drink anymore, because then he’s just sad and sad leads to crying and crying leads to him reaching for his phone and dialing Derek’s number just to hear the lady tell him it’s out of order.

He stomps inside, happy his father hasn’t arrived yet and dives into his bed, only taking the time to kick his shoes off before he rolls himself into a blanket burrito of sad and shuts his eyes against the world, making the executive decision that a nap will be the perfect remedy for him.

 

 

The Sheriff makes Derek take his car back to his house, quickly taking his phone out of his pocket and sending a quick text, presumably to his snoopy mother.

Derek doesn’t think the Sheriff really trusts him not to get cold feet and hightail it out of there if he takes his own car. Derek’s not quite sure himself he wouldn’t do just that, so he quietly gets in the car, clutching his bag of fruit against his chest like a sad attempt at a shield and lets himself be driven towards the Stilinski residence.

The house is exactly how Derek left it.

The same bright, mismatched garden, the same crooked mailbox and the same green door that you have to pull up and inwards if you want it to open properly. The curtains are all pulled backwards, some of the windows on the first floor open wide to let the summer air inside.

Stiles’ Jeep is parked in front of the garage sideways which is _not_ a good sign. Stiles always takes extra good care with his Jeep, so when it’s parked sideways you know he’s pissed about something.

Derek clutches his bag a little more tightly against his chest.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he tells the Sheriff, backtracking one step.

Stiles probably hates him. Derek doesn’t even want to begin remembering all the toxic things they’ve said to each other in the big blow out.

A warm hand clamps on his shoulder and gently pushes him forward.

“It’s for the best, son.”

And that’s what gets Derek moving towards the door a little more reassured.

This _is for the best._

And he’s an idiot. He’s always been an idiot. It just happens the last year he didn’t have Stiles to call him out on it.

It’s almost reflex to take his keys out of his pocket and look for the one that fits the Stilinski lock, before he remembers he doesn’t have it anymore.

He stands in front of the door, looking down at his keychain with a sour feeling in the back of his throat.

The Sheriff opens the door for him and herds him inside.

“I’m going to check on Stiles, why don’t you make yourself comfortable,” he tells him and Derek does.

He strides to the kitchen and sets down his bag on top of the table, frowns at it and decides to take some peaches out and cut them up into tiny stars, because if he’s here to fix it, he should start somewhere. There’s no better way to win Stiles over then cut up his fruit in fun shapes for him.

 

 

Stiles doesn’t know _exactly_ how long he lays in his blanket cocoon, hovering somewhere between consciousness and the sweet bliss of sleep, but he does know that it’s not nearly enough time before his dad puts a hand on him and shakes him slightly.

“Son, time to wake up. You have visitors.”

“No,” he whines, long and childish, dragging the o in the most obnoxious manner he possibly can manage, “send them away. I’m practicing.”

Dad rolls him over so Stiles can get the full impact of his raised eyebrow, “For what?”

“For death. _Lemme be_.”

His father sighs and starts peeling his blankets away.

“I hope you know you get your flair for the dramatics from your mom’s side. I have nothing to do with it.”

Stiles kicks back against the blanket stealing happening and whines louder, “I’m telling mom.”

“You’re nineteen, kiddo. March your butt downstairs and go greet your visitors.”

“I can’t. I’m sick.”

He coughs for full effect, looking at his father with the most pitiful expression he can conjure.

“With what?”

“Heartal crushunitis. It’s pretty serious.”

There’s a beat where his father only stands there before he rolls him off the bed.

“You’re evil,” Stiles informs him, in case his father isn’t aware. “I’m calling social services on you.”

Dad helps him up, pulling him right into a hug, squeezing him for a solid two minutes.

“Good to have you back, kiddo.”

Stiles clings to him and hides in the dip of his neck, like he’s two all over again and the nice lady two houses over is overly insistent in her quest to pinch his cheeks.

“Yeah.”

“Now go downstairs, greet your visitors. I’ll stay up here until you’re done.”

“Wait what? Why aren’t you coming?”

Stiles is pushed gently out the door and towards the staircase.

“Dad who is it? Why aren’t you coming. Dad!”

“You’ll see,” he says cryptically.

“Have you been hanging out with Deaton? Just _tell me_.”

“You’ll find out.”

Stiles stumbles down the first steps, barely managing to grab the railing. He throws his father a displeased look over his shoulder and stomps down the stairs. He’s mature like that.

Dad merely makes a shooing motion with his hand and Stiles sighs in defeat.

Whoever it is, he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t go by his own feet his father will drag him kicking, so better go on his own and preserve some of his dignity along the way.

Which turns out to be a terrible idea.

He steps down onto the first floor and the first thing he hears is humming and he stops breathing.

His feet carry him slowly towards the kitchen, pulled by the familiar sound of an old song he always skips on his iPod but can’t bring himself to delete.

 _“It’s tasteful music, Stiles. Educate yourself._ ”The words were always delivered with a teasing grin and a slight blush as Derek handed to him the flashdrive with whatever new playlist he’d made.

_“Aw, boo. You do love me.”_

There isn’t a door to his kitchen and Stiles never gave it much thought but he does now. Right now he’s grateful it’s an open floor plan, an archway separating the living room from the kitchen and there’s nothing for him to push or pull open.

He’s not quite sure if there had been a door he’d have it in him to pull it open.

He just needs to step sideways and he can see Derek, puttering around in his kitchen like he never left, carefully opening and closing cabinets because he’d always been too polite to bang them closed.

Stiles’ breath stutters and it’s like a chain reaction.

Derek’s shoulders go tense and he freezes mid-motion. Something clatters to the floor with a thump.

He slowly turns around and Stiles knows just from looking at him that he’s holding his breath too.

~*~

Stiles kicks his feet back and forward, both hands tightly shoved under his thighs. Otherwise he fears the offending appendages will reach out and grab at Derek, pull him close, maybe kiss him a little bit and isn’t that a lovely idea, kissing the hummed song right out of Derek’s mouth.

“Your taste in music is still shit,” Stiles tells his boyfriend, watching fondly as he moves around his kitchen, picking things up and putting things down, throwing some in a bowl in his endeavor to make Stiles a dessert.

Derek’s a marshmallow dork like that.

“Don’t bash the oldies,” he tells Stiles, darting over for a quick kiss like it’s hard for him to keep away too.

Stiles sniffs, puts on his most judgmental face and tries not to break it apart with his stupid grin.

“I don’t see the appeal.”

Derek looks at him and very slowly, very deliberately raises an eyebrow and Stiles _knows_ that face. That’s the face that basically means _challenge accepted_ in Derek eyebrow language.

Stiles gives him a shit eating grin because he’s just dying to see what Derek will do to counter his statement. He’s _excited_ because that’s what Derek does to him. Makes him excited to lose arguments.

He knows for certain he’ll lose because that’s also the face that means Derek is about to play dirty to win and well Shakira was very right in a thing. Not only do hips don’t lie but they also make very compelling arguments.

Derek likes to use them to talk for him a lot

Not that Stiles is complaining because he’s really, _really_ not.

Derek moves around the table and starts dragging the chairs into a corner.

“Are you going to juggle the chairs while singing _Cotton Eyed Joe_ to me?” he teases.

Derek pushes the table away from the center of the kitchen with Stiles still on it, takes his phone out of his pocket and thumbs around it for a second.

“What are you doing?”

He shuts the lights and opens the refrigerator door.

“Food’s gonna spoil like that.”

Derek presses play on his phone and sets it on the counter.

“Are you romancing me right now?”

“Are you romanced?”

“Not really.”

Derek gives him that brilliant smile, a little huff of a laugh and lifts him off the table onto the floor like he weighs nothing.

“Gosh darn,” he drawls. “Guess you weren’t immediately swayed by my southern charm.”

A deep voice starts crooning from Derek’s phone, something slow and sweet.

“We live on the west coast,” he says and for some reason he keeps his voice down. He doesn’t want to disrupt this. Won’t dare to.

Derek pulls him impossibly close and sways him around the kitchen in measured steps, cheek pressed against Stiles’ and humming the song lowly and he spins him around the room.

The dirty light filtering from the fridge catches shadows of them twirling around and for a moment Stiles is entranced by them, the picture they make like this, pressed together and intimate with a soft melody hanging in the air.

It makes him want to hold his breath and close his eyes and hope he can stay here, hung on this one perfect untouchable second.

“Are you romanced yet?” Derek whispers, lips catching on his skin almost accidentally.

Stiles leans a little more heavily on him. “Maybe,” he mutters.

“Do you see the appeal now?”

He sighs a little. “M _ay_ be.”

He’s a dirty liar. He’s drug store harlequin novel levels of romanced. He’s about two seconds from throwing the stable boy into the hay and ripping off his corset.

It’s not a long song, sadly. They don’t just get to spin around the kitchen indefinitely.

The song changes to something a little quicker, a little _funner_ and Derek pushes him a little back makes him spin around and dips him dramatically, a grin spilling over his face and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never been so charmed.

“ _Kiss me quick because I love you so_ ,” he hums softly and then follows through his words and leans down, pressing his lips against Stiles’ slow and sure and sweet and it’s everything.

~*~

Derek takes a step forward and then stops. Stiles can see the way his muscles tense and tremble like he’s holding himself back by a hair.

“What-“ his voice breaks, he gets a little choked off and has to drop his eyes.

It’s been one year. He doesn’t think he can look at him after one year.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbles into the floor, knows that Derek will hear him.

“I-“

Stiles lifts his eyes, conditioned maybe by his voice. He lifts his foot and has half a mind to step forward. Ends up putting it down pitiful centimeters ahead of the other, barely a step.

“I was just- cutting up some fruit.”

Derek’s throat clicks and he raises a little cookie cutter in the shape of a star. He seems to remind himself and leans down to pick up a peach, waving it a little like it’s evidence that he has been doing exactly what he said.

“In my house.”

Derek flinches.

“So-“

“Don’t. Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” he can’t hear that Derek is sorry for being here. You’re sorry when you feel bad for something. “Just tell me what you’re doing here.”

Derek sighs and his entire demeanor slumps, like he’s so incredibly tired. The posture seems to come easily, like this is something he’s used to. Giving up. Hopelessness. Feeling lost.

Stiles hates seeing him like this so fiercely it surprises him. He should _not care_ by now.

It’s been a year and here’s Derek _after everything_.

And here’s Stiles still wanting to fix his every frown.

“I don’t know.”

“Right.”

Stiles takes another step closer, decides to just stop being an idiot and at least have this conversation in the same room.

“I wanted to see how you were.”

“My dad made you come, didn’t he?”

Derek turns for a minute putting the cookie cutter down along with the peach and picking up a little bowl. He sits heavily on the chair and slides the bowl across it, prompting Stiles to sit in front of him.

“Didn’t he?” Stiles repeats.

He doesn’t want this conversation to be like their last. Full of lies twisted enough until they were jagged and turned into half-truths, just sharp enough to cut the other with.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Stiles slumps a little and takes the chair in front of him.

“You don’t have to be here just because he made you.”

Derek looks at him for a minute, eyes tripping over Stiles’ features and Stiles knows exactly what he sees.

He sees the messed up hair, a little shorter, a little greasier from doing his car ride from college and not having showered yet. The deep circles under his eyes and how his skin is paler even though it’s summer and they live in goddamn California.

He’ll see the way Stiles’ posture has become hunched and his gestures a little slower and how he won’t talk as much.

Stiles knows exactly what he’ll see because it’s what Scott and Lydia and freaking Jackson tell him they see with worry lacing their voices.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to,” Derek tells him, and then adds more purposefully, “I can count on one hand the things I’ve done and didn’t want to. The ones that count.”

Stiles isn’t going to ask. He wants to, is burning with the need to ask if breaking up with him was one, but hopeful is a stupid pathetic animal so he won’t.

Instead he takes a minute to assess Derek, really pay attention because with Derek’s family you can only really _see them_ if you pay very close attention.

To anyone else Derek would seem fine, maybe a little tired, but Stiles guesses being a werewolf and all he’s naturally gorgeous.

Still as breathtaking as he was back then and he’s not even smiling.

Luckily, Stiles knows how to pay attention to it, he sees the slump of his shoulders and how Derek seems to be hunching in on himself, expecting a blow and living on the razor edge of waiting for it to come.

How the crinkles by his eyes are less pronounced, like he hasn’t laughed enough for his laughter lines to stick around. There’s faint bruises under his eyes and the hazel has swirled more to a shade of flat brown with fewer green and gold specks and swirls.

They’re something of a mystery, Derek’s eyes. Stiles liked to joke they changed with seasons and Derek’s mood and the weather, but sometimes it’s as if _they do_. It wouldn’t really be that surprising if that’s what happened.

His eyebrows are set in a harsh tilt, his lips pressed together flat and severe, his face carved into a permanent frown.

Stiles can even see where his forehead has crinkled more than it used from the frowning.

He doesn’t like it.

Doesn’t like it one bit. Thinks himself pathetic that even looking a little run down, a little weary, a little wrecked Derek’s still the most beautiful thing he’s seen.

It’s a tragedy.

His father does tell him he has a flare for the dramatics, but it _is_ a tragedy how their story turned out. He feels like crying a little bit, but he’ll save that for when he doesn’t have an audience.

Derek averts his eyes and pushes the bowl closer to Stiles.

Stiles looks down at it with a raised eyebrow.

“Really?”

Stiles wants to punch him in the face a little bit too.

“I needed something to do with my hands.”

Stiles breathes out slow and measured, picks up a piece of peach shaped like a star and pops it into his mouth.

“Why were you nervous?”

Derek’s eyebrows twitch up.

“You needed something to do with your hands. So. Why were you nervous?”

“It’s been a year,” Derek tells him, like he doesn’t already know.

“I’m not the one who broke things off, Derek,” he says bitterly. He’s allowed to be bitter. “With no apparent explanation, mind you. And then I had a creepy motherfucker woman- _thingy_ stalking me and going off about how my boyfriend was a monster-“

Derek flinches at the word.

Stiles steamrolls right through his reaction. “-and _then_ trying to give me evidence that you were a werewolf like I already didn’t know. That was fun, especially follo-“

Derek’s staring at him, mouth hanging open and eyes wide and Stiles pauses his little word vomit to look up at him. He doesn’t honestly know what could surprise Derek in what he said.

“What?” he asks carefully.

“You-“ Derek seems to choke on his own spit, shakes his head, his hands squeeze together, “you know I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles frowns, “Well. Obviously.”

Derek shakes his head, lets out this ugly little laugh that has Stiles worried for his mental sanity.

“ _You know I’m a werewolf._ ”

“I don’t-“

Stiles stops himself, blinks at Derek and wow. Wow, okay he’s gonna beat the shit out of both of them this is so fucking moronic. He’s going to go up to whoever wrote his life and punch them right in the kidneys.

“You didn’t know I knew,” he breathes it out.

“You _know_ I’m a _werewolf_.”

“You didn’t know I knew?! How didn’t you know I knew. Derek. What the fuck.”

Derek clunks his head down on the table, “ _Ohmygod_.”

 

 

He’s an idiot.

He’s _stupid,_ there’s no other word for the amount of moronic going on at this very moment.

Derek had been so afraid half the time they’d be dating that this day would be the day Stiles would find out and run away screaming.

Well, he knew, somewhat, that Stiles wouldn’t actually _do that_. He’d probably think it was cool, because that’s the type of person Stiles _is_ , but the possibility had been there and it had been enough to terrorize Derek deep down to his core.

“How long?”

Stiles snags a star peach and plops it in his mouth, “Have I known?” he asks, and then shrugs _casually_ like he hasn’t casually sent Derek’s world into a spin of doom. You know when you see a globe and you can’t help but turn it as fast as you can to see how fast it spins? That’s exactly how Derek’s feeling right now.

Spinning too fast, unsteady on his feet, mildly nauseous.

“I can’t remember. A while. Definitely a good while. I must’ve been what, five? Six?”

Derek thunks his head back on the table. Stiles knew even before they started dating. And he still agreed to deal with a werewolf. Of course he had.

“I was waiting for you to tell me,” Stiles says quietly, his scent sours and Derek wants to gag. He hates Stiles smelling sad and regretful.

Right after he’d broken up with him he had to stop halfway to his house to throw up on the side of the road, the scent was so overpoweringly bad.

“Derek,” Stiles says, voice low and careful, “is that why- did you break up with me because you didn’t want to tell me?”

“You know why I did it,” he tells him, “you know most of it.”

“You didn’t want me to go to college with you.”

“Not when you got into the college of your dreams and were throwing it away.”

“What else?”

Derek sets his jaw, “Hunters.”

~*~

The letter in his hand feels heavy and dangerous.

He’s read it, too curious not to, and it said exactly what he feared and what he hoped.

It’s been weeks, it’s been what feels like ages since their acceptance letters had been due and ever since Derek had to basically _force_ Stiles to apply to the college he really wanted to go, going so far as bringing it in front of his parents, the air between them had been tense.

Truthfully they weren’t on the best terms right at this instance but it wasn’t something new. Fights happened to them every once in a while and every time they worked their issues out and they would work this one too.

Stiles had gotten in to Stanford, the college he had worked his entire high school career to get into. The same college his mother had attended and liked to tell stories about when she was a little tipsy on wine or just happiness.

He doesn’t know what to do about it.

He doesn’t know what to do about it because Stiles had lied to him.

Derek had asked if he had gotten in and Stiles had shrugged like it didn’t matter, “Nah. But it’s okay. I’ll go to UCLA with you.”

Derek had heard the blip in his heartbeat. He tries his best to block it out when he’s with Stiles because it feels a little too much like cheating, but he _had_ and he knew Stiles wouldn’t be going with him to UCLA.

He hates being a werewolf sometimes, he hates how all his senses are honed in with Stiles perfectly. He’s can’t even hear lies most of the time, why did he have to _this one time?_

They wouldn’t be _that_ couple. Derek wouldn’t be the kind of boyfriend that made his partner attend the same college and completely cast aside what they wanted.

He certainly wouldn’t do that to Stiles because he’s smarter than that, he deserves _better_ than that.

He’ll talk with Stiles as soon as he gets out of summer Lacrosse practice that he for some reason had. Derek gave up on Coach and logic around the same time he told them if they couldn’t run in heels they would never be able to play for shit.

They’ll talk, Stiles will argue and Derek will convince him to do long distance because they can. He fully believes they can do long distance.

That’s his plan. He knows Stiles will agree.

He paces worriedly the front of the school, ducks around to the side so he can maybe wait for Stiles on the bleachers.

He’s distracted with too much on his mind and all the worries of a teenager on the verge of a huge change has and that’s how they get the drop of him.

Derek’s walking across the side of the school and suddenly his face is shoved into the wall and a knife stinking of wolfsbane is being pressed too close to his throat.

“Hello, handsome. Going to see the boyfriend?” a female voice whispers in his ear and if Derek could crawl inside the wall he probably would if it meant he could get away from it.

The person allows him to twist around but as quick as he turns he has the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead.

The woman holding it smirks at him, her eyes lighting up.

“Don’t worry. I’m not _allowed_ to kill you. Unless, of course, you attack me first,” she glances down at Derek’s claws.

He growls low in his throat.

“If you kill me, my Alpha will tear your throat out.”

The woman waves her hand, “I know I know. There’s a code blah blah blah. _But._ If you attack me first I’ll have grounds to kill you and possibly prosecute your entire family.”

“Why would I do that?”

She nods her head towards the field.

“Accidents happen all the time. Humans that are related to mutts like you oughta be more careful, really. Hits and runs, gang violence, robberies. People die every day.”

Derek growls low and threatening.

He never thought he’d have the urge to _hurt_ someone quite as bad as he wants to hurt her. He’s not violent, has never been violent.

Laura used to make fun of him, how he’d rather cling to aunt Emily’s shirt tails than slaughter little woodland animals with the rest of the kids. Not when they were cute little bunnies at least.

The woman lowers her gun and smirks.

Her throat is wide open, it’d be too easy to take a swipe but he’s not stupid. That’s exactly what she wants.

“I’ve been watching you and _mates._ You’d just go _crazy_ if anything happened to him. We both know how clumsy he is, it’s so easy for clumsy humans to have _accidents_ , isn’t it.”

He chains his wolf down and limits himself to low growling, teeth bared.

The woman’s smirk turns a little meaner, “Not going to take a swipe. Not going to protect your boyfriend?” She hums a little, steps close until her chest is mere millimeters from Derek’s. “Better watch your back. And his.”

He shoves his claws in his palms and amps up his growling.

“Still not going to take a swipe,” she sounds a little disappointed, “Weak. Your boyfriend will end up dead because you didn’t have the balls to-“

“Derek!”

He snaps his head and sees Stiles jogging up to him, still sweaty from practice and in his gear.

“Here he comes, guess I’ll have to go. Think about what I told you. Oh and Derek, _don’t_ even think about telling anyone because from what I’ve seen your little boy over there isn’t exactly clued in on the monster you are.”

“He wouldn’t-“

“Wouldn’t he? Are you really sure he wouldn’t run away when he knew just where he had been sticking his dick.

The sounds of Stiles footsteps become louder, announcing how close to them he is.

The woman turns away with a wink, wiggling his fingers, “See you later, _Derek_.”

Derek shakes off his hands and wipes the blood on the back of his pants. The letter in his hand is crumpled up with a few droplets of blood tainting it. He’s grateful he brought the letter casing along.

Swiftly, he takes the letter from the envelope and crumples the envelope into his back pocket.

“Who was-“

“You got in,” he interrupts, waving the letter a little as proof.

Stiles stops, jaw set, “It doesn’t ma-“

“I’m _not_ letting you give up on Stanford for me.”

“Well, it’s not _your decision_.”

Derek is so utterly fucked. Stiles is angry, jaw set and muscles tense with a fire in his eyes that threatens to do what it takes to win, and still Derek thinks he’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen.

He imagines what it’d be like for him to get a call in the middle of the night. Maybe not even that. Hear about it from the grapevine. His mother sitting him down with kinds eyes and a steel resolve and telling him his boyfriend was shot, his boyfriend was run over, his boyfriend was in some kind of tragic accident too much of a coincidence or an accident to be it.

He takes a deep breath and makes a decision, something deep in his gut twisting uncomfortably, spreading through his body, constricting his chest and lungs.

He makes a decision.

_It’s for the best._

~*~

Stiles throws a star peach at his face, “You absolute and utter idiot. I’m going to throw a chair at your head,” he threatens and throws a handful of his fruit at him.

“Stop throwing stars at me.”

“You _deserve it_ ,” he growls, “that was _not_ your decision to make. Why didn’t you _talk to me_ like a normal person!”

“And say what ‘oh hey, Stiles, I know this sounds crazy but my entire family are werewolves also there are hunters after us that might kill you, wanna go make out’?”

Stiles throws more fruit at him.

“ _Stop that_.”

“Maybe! I don’t know! I’ll tell you what you could’ve done and that’s not _make decisions for me_. Stop doing that! No one likes that!”

“And what. Let some deranged woman run you over with her shady SUV?”

Stiles glares at him, “She wouldn’t have done that. She approached me, you asshole. She was _bluffing_. Aren’t you supposed to hear someone’s heartbeat or something?”

Derek shifts, “I was working on that.”

Stiles chucks the rest of the bowl’s content at him.

Derek swipes it away and throws him an annoyed look, “I’m not cleaning that up.”

“I hate you,” Stiles says.

His heart blips horribly, loudly, hopefully.

Derek stops breathing.

“You don’t,” he’s stunned, he can’t help but stare.

Stiles doesn’t hate him.

Derek would hate himself for what he’s done. Derek _hates_ himself for what he’s done. He can’t comprehend how Stiles isn’t breaking the bowl over his head and shouting at him to get out of his house.

He considers what it’d be like, to be in Stiles’ shoes.

If Stiles was the one making the decision for him and breaking them up.

He’d be angry. He’d be beyond furious, but he wouldn’t hate Stiles. The feeling simply wouldn’t fit inside him and it’s such a strange thing to consider, that he can’t hate someone just because the amount of _feeling_ he has – fondness, joy, frustration, love – just fills him up to the brim.

“You don’t hate me,” he says again, still wonderingly, “You should.”

Stiles is angry. There’s a hard press to his mouth, the set of his shoulders defensive and aggressive all at once.

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“Stop not doing what I expect you to.”

“Fuck off.”

Derek huffs because Stiles heart blips again. It’s something so simple.

He has a lot of people he loves, it comes with having a big family, and there are moments when they _hate_ each other, when the words are mean and true even just for that second.

But here he is.

Sitting in a kitchen chair, the sun filtering through the window and warming the room, and the fridge humming a tad too loudly.

The boy whose heart he broke sitting in front of him looking the special kind of beautiful that comes with his anger.

He doesn’t think he ever looked at Stiles and didn’t think he was the most gorgeous thing in the room, not once, no matter how much food Stiles would shove in his mouth and talk around.

Stiles drops his eyes and twirls the bowl just for something to do with his hands, starts chewing on his bottom lip.

“You should know better,” Stiles tells him.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “You always do the opposite of what I’m expecting.”

“Must be annoying,” Stiles bites off and Derek winces.

There were a couple of nasty things they’ve said to each other on that day.

He regrets all of them.

~*~

Derek follows Stiles home in his sister’s car and his blood boils just under his skin. It’s a physical struggle to do this and not just turn back and head home.

But he _has_ to do this.

_(It’s for the best.)_

Stiles had given him a chance to take his words back, had sent him home, yelled at him to go take a chill pill and then come back when his asshole levels had gone down again.

Derek almost takes that chance. Almost.

The images of Stiles’ body lying in some ditch, looking lifelessly up at the sky, limbs in unnatural broken angles keeps flashing through his mind and he just _can’t_ let that happen.

He tells himself he has to choose even if he hates every option he’s given.

 But he has to do it and between _not_ pushing him away and Stiles getting murdered, which without a doubt would make Derek go feral and attack the Argents which in turn would start an all-out war between the families and breaking up with Stiles, pushing him away from everything werewolf and losing him, he’ll chose door number two.

God, he doesn’t want to do this, he really doesn’t want to lose him.

His m-

His boyfriend.

He won’t say it, saying it makes it worse. Saying it will make the wolf that’s chewing him inside out, threatening to break out and stop him from doing this do just that.

Derek ignores his instincts. They won’t do him any good now.

Stiles parks his car in his driveway, sideways and careless, smacks the door closed like he never does.

He never delivers abuse on his Jeep, unless he’s really, _really_ pissed.

Derek parks the Camaro in front of his house and chases after him, holds him by the arm a little too tight, but not injuring. He would never hurt him.

“We’re _finishing_ this conversation,” he growls.

 _(It’s for the best_.)

Stiles wrenches his arm away, “Go home Derek. Before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Maybe I _want to_ say something I’ll regret. Maybe I’m tired of you telling me what to do. You always rope me into things without my input.”

The thing about Stiles, Derek knows, is that he isn’t the kind of guy to turn the other cheek. He’s the kind of guy that’ll pick up a mace and hit you over the head with it in your sleep.

“Oh. That’s _rich_ coming from you.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean? I’m not the one that gets us arrested. Or in _detention_.”

“You weren’t complaining when I was sucking your dick in the school bathroom.”

He doesn’t want to go there. God he hopes Stiles doesn’t make him go there.

“You _literally_ decided what college I should go to. Maybe I don’t want to go to Stanford anymore. Maybe I want to go to UCLA.”

“Maybe I don’t _want you_ to come to college with me. Maybe you’re fucking suffocating me. Maybe you’re too clingy, have you ever thought of that?”

Stiles drops his mouth open and _shit_ Derek hit a sore spot.

He knows he hit a sore spot and it’s not like he completely meant to, but he wants Stiles to be done with him. He wants for Stiles to be safe.

“Well,” he swallows and Derek braces himself because he can see howthe glint in Stiles’ eye just changed, “Maybe _I’m_ tired of you and all your fucking secrets. And _I’m_ clingy, well buddy let me give you some news because you are like a leech.”

“If it bothers you so much why didn’t you just break up with me sooner? Seeing how long you could take one of the Hales for a _spin?_ Patting yourself in the back for landing one of the rich families?”

Derek hates himself. He needs to get out of here and _run_. He’s going to throw up. His heart is slowly sinking into the pit of his stomach and it feels like something nasty is slowly burning it, like bleach or acid.

He doesn’t want to do this.

 _(It’s for the best_.)

“Wow. Seriously. You went _there_. This was _never_ what this was about and you know that. I never cared about your fucking money. But maybe _that_ was it for you. A little bit of a gag, take the poor virgin _spaz_ out and show him a good time. Did I get too _clingy,_ was that why you didn’t dump me earlier? Grew a conscious suddenly? Was that it?”

Derek clenches his jaw and doesn’t correct him.

He wants to, _god he wants to_.

_No, it was never about that._

_You were my first too, you know that._

_I love you._

_Don’t leave._

_I love you._

“Wow,” Stiles says slowly and stumbles a step back, “wow okay. I- I don’t know why I’m surprised by that.”

Stiles’ scent turns into something unbearable and Derek almost gags. He can’t let him think that _,_ not _that._

“You know that wasn’t it. But if you really think I’m that kind of person then _maybe_ we shouldn’t be together.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

 _It’s for the best_.

Derek is going to throw up.

 _Please, don’t_.

_It’s for the best._

_… I love you._

_It’s for the best._

~*~

They lapse into silence.

“What now?” Stiles whispers, “It’s not- I can’t-“

“Yeah. Yeah I know. I’m- I’m sorry.”

“We broke too easily,” Stiles says as an answer to that.

~*~

“So this is it? We’re done? Just like that,” Stiles spits and it’s tired. Derek can see the defeat marked on his shoulders, how he’s barely holding himself up and he _hates himself_. Hates what he’s done.

Would hate himself more if Stiles ended up dead because of him, though.

“Just like that,” he says because it’s what he has to say, “This is for the best.”

 _It’s for the best_.

It’s what he tells himself.

It’s what he keeps telling himself when he walks away.

It’s what he tells himself when he’s falling apart.

It’s what he clings too when he’s already shattered.

~*~

“I wanted us to. I couldn’t let you get hurt.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault if I did get hurt.”

“Well,” he shrugs like this isn’t something huge, “the entire me going feral and possibly killing someone _would_ be my fault.”

 

 

Stiles startles, his whole body spasming in surprise. “What? Only omegas go feral.”

Derek shifts in his chair, looking decidedly shifty and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with him. So he just stands there with his hand sticky with the fruit he had thrown and with his heart tripping all over itself, which apparently Derek, the big asshole that he is, can hear.

“How much do you know about ‘wolves?” Derek asks, frowning his adorable little frown with his stupid eyebrows.

Stiles shrugs a little. “Enough.”

“Wolves can go feral when they go through unbearable loss,” Derek supplies. “Sometimes betas go feral.”

Stiles leans forward in interest. “And you would go feral because I’d be an unbearable loss.”

Derek presses his lips together and looks down at the table.

“There’s-“ he stops himself, chancing a glance at Stiles. “There’s marks. To identify omegas. And ‘wolves that have gone off the deep end.”

“Blue eyes?” Stiles asks.

Derek jerks his head in a nod.

“You get blue eyes if you go feral. Or if you kill an innocent. If you go through unbearable loss. Like losing one of your main anchors.”

Stiles opens his mouth to ask. He has _so many questions_ , but he feels like what Derek is about to say is important so he keeps quiet.

“I’m gonna show you something,” Derek tells him, slowly and he looks so uncomfortable, so scared for some reason that Stiles doesn’t question it. “Don’t- don’t freak out, okay?”

Derek’s eyes search Stiles’ for a minute, looking for reassurance. Stiles nods. He doesn’t know what Derek could do that would make him freak out.

“And don’t tell my family. They’d freak out and have Dr. Deaton prod at me,” he twists his nose.

Stiles snorts.

Derek ducks his head and frowns down at the table, when he raises his head again his eyes are glowing.

“Whoa,” Stiles breathes out.

He’s seen this before, of course he had, but it had been glimpses. On Derek when he got a little over excited while making out. On some of the Hales in the middle of an argument. He had never seen it like this, so steady and focused and real.

He leans over a little closer and reaches over with two fingers to keep Derek’s chin up so his head is leveled and he can look him in the eye.

Derek’s eyes are peculiar, he’d say, “Why are they different colors?”

His left eyes is glowing a bright blue while his other one is glowing gold.

Derek drops his eyes and blinks the glow away.

Stiles lets go of him and sits back again.

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard about it. Ever.”

“You should go to Deaton.”

“I’m not going to Deaton.”

“What if you have, like, werewolf _cancer_ , Derek? This is as stupid as having a weird growth and not going to the hospital.”

Derek huffs and leans back, “I am _not_ going to Deaton. He’ll tell my mom. And then Mom will be upset I didn’t tell her earlier. And then _everyone_ will be fussing over me.”

Stiles curls his lips at a corner, “I’m calling your mother.”

“No, you’re not.”

“ _Stop making decisions for me_ ,” Stile snaps and he knows he’s being a little ridiculous, but his boyfriend broke up with him for the stupidest reason. He’s allowed to be ridiculous. And he’s allowed to be petty and maybe call his mom and tattle on him.

He probably will end up calling Talia. He’s concerned about Derek. That does not look healthy.

Derek crumples a little, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles sighs. He didn’t mean to loop them back to the heavy tension, the impasse they’ve found themselves at.

“Do I need to play some McFly,” he tries to go for a joking tone. “Because sorry’s not good enough.”

Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover the _heartbreak_ he had to go through for a year. It doesn’t cover the constant nagging and how he didn’t leave his room for a little over a week.

It’s just- they had _so much_ and just like that, they didn’t anymore.

Sorry doesn’t cover the aftermath of the breakup, because however bad the actual fight had been the days following had been worse.

~*~

Stiles marches inside his house, hands shaking and he doesn’t know if he’s angry or if he’s on the razor edge of a panic attack. Which he’ll _not have_. He won’t- Derek is not worth-

“Stiles, honey. We’re having casserole for dinner,” his mother calls out and it’s so normal.

He just had his entire world flipped and yet everything around him is still normal, still intact.

He guesses he’s the only one falling apart.

Stiles opens his mouth to answers and instead hiccups through a sob, back slamming against the front door and he just- falls down. Lets himself slide down until he’s sitting on the floor head between his hands.

“Stiles? Stiles, baby are you okay?”

Footsteps echo somewhere to his right and then a warm hand settles on his shoulder.

“He-“ he sucks in a breathe, chokes on it. “Mom, he broke up with me.”

“Oh. Oh, baby I’m so sorry.”

Claudia sits next to him and pulls him up to her arms, pulls him to her with the ease only a mother has and he thinks, _I can fall apart now_.

And he does.

~*~

Yeah, sorry won’t cover it.

 

 

Derek’s breath rattles in his chest.

He didn’t know what he expected. This wasn’t a good idea. He shouldn’t have let the Sheriff talk him into this.

 _Of course_ sorry won’t cut it, he’s not sure why he thought it would.

“I’m sorry,” he says again and it’s different. He’s apologizing for different things.

He’s just- _so fucking sorry_ it’s almost hard to breathe with it.

Stiles is right, though. How could sorry ever cut it? He still remembers what it did to him. The breakup. How it was nothing like other people told him it would be and at the same time everything.

First person to break his heart.

Well, in all fairness he broke his own heart. He’s an idiot like that.

~*~

He doesn’t go home. He couldn’t.

Instead right after Derek breaks up with his everything he drives away. And sure he had the intent of driving home but he can’t make it there.

He has to stop, throw up on the side of the road as his instinct and his rational part war with each other.

He leaves the car right at the side of the road, wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and kicks his shoes off and then he just _runs_.

Derek runs for a long time, he’ll be told later. He runs through the slow burning coal of that day and all through the night. He runs until he’s winded, until he can’t take one more step. And then he just collapses and huddles on himself.

Waits for his mom to come find him. He knows she will and he’ll have to wait.

Mom will fix it. Mom always fixes everything.

~*~

“You think it could?” Derek asks.

“Could what?”

“Do you think sorry could ever be enough?” He doesn’t dare to hope. It’s too much to ask. He doesn’t deserve it.

“I- I don’t know,” Stiles tells him, “We hurt each other a lot that day. We had been fighting for weeks already. Do you think we could just go back to-“

“No,” he shakes his head, “no of course not.”

“Right, we can’t just-“

“We could-“ he drops his eyes and fidgets. This is stupid. He’s being stupid. “We could try again. From the start?”

Stiles’ heart trips and starts beating double tempo. He jerks his head up to see the boy in front of him rubbing at the back of his neck, passing through his hair as if shaking something off.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he tries. “Ask again. Until you tell me to stop or say yes. Either way it’s your decision.”

Stiles huffs at him a little, but he leans forward, he gives his full attention back to Derek, eyes scanning his face intently.

“Okay. Come back tomorrow.” He nods a little.

Derek sighs out, something loosening right in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know if he’s smiling. Maybe he is.

He ducks his head and drops his eyes. “Okay.”

Stiles shifts a little in his seat. “I’m still not sorry for having thrown fruit at you.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “I deserved it. Maybe. A little bit.”

“You definitely deserved it.”

“ _Maybe_. Still not cleaning it up.”

“ _Rude_.”

Derek scrapes his chair backward with a huff and makes of show of starting to clean it up.

“You didn’t actually need to- you’re an idiot,” Stiles sighs, annoyed with maybe just one tiny hint of fond.

Stiles gets up and starts helping him out and it’s something out of one of those teen romances almost. They’re both crouching on the floor, picking up spilled stars and their hands brush and they look at each other, but nothing happens.

The moment hangs for a second, breathless and tension filled and they just resume the task of cleaning the mess they made of this.

There’s no time for acting out on feelings when there’s spilled stars between them and _maybe_  that could be some sort of metaphor for their situation.

Maybe all they need to do is pick up all their pieces and put them back where they belong. Maybe all they need to do is to pick up all the pieces that are now useless but they were too sore to pick them up. Maybe they just need to throw the shatters into the trash and start anew.

Maybe Derek needs to stop listening to sad songs and watching ‘chick flicks’ and actually do something about his own misunderstanding filled life.

“I think I’ll need a ride back home,” he tells Stiles, straightening up slowly. “Your dad kind of gave me a ride over.”

“When he kidnapped you and made us talk about feelings, you mean.”

Stiles is not impressed.

“To be fair, I’m almost completely sure my mother is behind this.”

“She always is,” Stiles agrees easily. “Why are all the women in your family so scary?”

Derek shrugs one shoulder. “To counterbalance how all the men are not.”

Stiles snorts, rubbing his hand on his jeans.

“Come on then. I’ll take you home.”

“You sure? You’re gonna get mobbed,” he warns.

Stiles’ steps quicken a fraction of a second and he had forgotten how much Stiles actually liked his family.

How he always seemed to get Jamie when most of them couldn’t most of the time, and how he masterfully organizes pranks with Cora and Malia and Thomas and Katie. How he sometimes holes himself away with Derek’s dad and his uncle in the greenhouse and comes out with dirt all over and looking like great wisdom was just imparted on him.

How he can go toe to toe with Aunt Mai and Uncle Peter and how Alexis loves to put him on a headlock and take long walks with him and how Olivia likes to talk with him in the library, behind closed doors.

How Charlie always jumps on him first and demands to be twirled around and how Day once made Stiles stay over for almost three days straight because she’d cry every time he reached for the door.

How Laura basically adopted him and his mother trusts him enough to be loose and relaxed around a not member of their pack.

He had forgotten how his family liked Stiles and how he liked them back and it’s so stupid.

Derek didn’t just take himself out of Stiles’ life, he took an entire group of people, an entire support system.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Derek nods and takes out his phone, sending a mass text that Stiles is dropping him off and for them not to be overbearing on him.

He doesn’t have much faith in it though.

Derek follows Stiles out and promptly turns his phone off because the response to that particular text would steal all of his attention from Stiles on the ride over and he doesn’t want that.

It’s been over a year. He thinks he’s allowed to dedicate as much of his attention at his- Stiles as he wants.

The radio turns on as soon as Stiles turns the key in the ignition, an oldies station announcing another half hour of uninterrupted music.

“You hate this station,” Derek says, because Stiles does. He says it’s old people music. He’s always preferred something upbeat that he could jump around to, something that would thrum through his bones and match his too fast beating heart.

“Maybe I don’t hate it anymore,” Stiles returns, slowly backing out of his driveway, with the normal care with which he handles his Jeep and starts for the Preserve.

Derek is relieved he doesn’t seem to be mad anymore.

“Maybe I never hated it.”

Derek listens carefully for what he knows won’t be there: the blip signaling a lie.

“So you weren’t only indulging me with my _tasteful_ music.”

Stiles snorts, “It’s still old people music, Der. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Derek can’t even glare. He can’t even be the tiniest bit annoyed because here he is, in a car with the boy he loves, still. Here he is, in such a familiar place that makes the world tilt back to its original position, that nudges everything into being a little more like it should.

He has Stiles by his side and his scent permeating him and if Derek had less control he’d most likely be rubbing himself all over the upholstery.

“You kids with your Fall Out Disco and your Panic Boy,” he curses.

Stiles snickers and it might be the best thing Derek’s heard in a long time. It makes him want to do something stupid like kiss him. But he can’t. He’s not allowed yet.

“Those are good bands,” Stiles defends. “That’s tasteful music right there.”

“Why don’t you put it on then?” he challenges and Stiles huffs.

“Yes, let me just tell the radio what to play next.”

Derek digs into his pocket and takes out the little flashdrive sitting there.

“What’s that?”

He plugs it in and lets the trashy punk rock, or whatever they call this, fill the car.

“You hate this music,” Stiles tells him.

“Maybe I don’t hate it anymore,” he throws back. “Maybe I’ve never hated it.”

Stiles steals a couple glances at him, lips pressed and tilted up just the slightest bit, holding in his smile.

They drive in relative silence for the time it takes for the fourth song to start.

“I know this,” Stiles says and then turns to Derek like he just discovered how to revive dinosaurs. “I _know_ this. I made you this.”

He had.

Derek used to give Stiles mix tapes all the time. Sometimes on a burned CD, sometimes on a little flashdrive and he always had a reason behind them.

An anniversary. To teach Stiles what good music sounded like. For slow boning it out to. For days when it’s sunny and they are happy and too warm but still won’t let go of each other. For rainy days when they do have a pretext to cuddle up. For those times when they were fighting. And for those times they worked it out. For making out in the back of the theater. To say I love you.

It was a _thing_.

Derek was sappy like that, he liked making playlists and giving them to Stiles and catching him listening to them from time to time.

Stiles wasn’t as keen as Derek with them, but from time to time he gave one back, going on about how it wasn’t _that_ good, but mixtapes mean love and it wouldn’t feel right for Derek to be the only one giving them to Stiles.

“Why do you have this?”

“You gave it to me,” he tells him.

He still has every single mixtape Stiles has thrown together for him. He’s taken to carrying one around with him at all times.

The CD’s are almost all stacked neatly and safely in his car. Some of them rest near his ancient stereo. The flash drives are all over. Some in his laptop bag, some in his childhood bedroom and always one in his pocket to carry around.

He might or might not have saved some of the playlists to his iPod just in case.

“This playlist is terrible,” Stiles informs him. “And you _kept it_.”

Derek frowns, he doesn’t know what he was supposed to do with them if not keep them.

It occurs to Derek that Stiles probably hasn’t. Stiles probably didn’t care that much for the hours Derek spent selecting the perfect song and then obsessing over it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Stiles tells him, and then reaches over to open the glove compartment.

A rain of flash drives and CD’s fall on Derek’s feet.

“And you’re stupid for thinking it.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, pleased. A smile tugs at his lips and he feels- He feels content. He feels _happy_.

It almost knocks him sideways.

It’s been a long time since he felt happy. He missed it.

He missed Stiles.

“You’re a sap,” Stiles tells him matter-of-factly. Derek doesn’t want to think about the possible fondness in his voice. He hasn’t earned that back yet.

“This is not new information.”

Stiles opens his mouth to answer but something heavy lands on the roof of the car, causing Stiles to swerve dangerously.

Derek opens his window and sticks his head out, “Goddamn it, Cora.”

His baby sister grins at him.

“So,” he starts, “I told my family you knew about the werewolf thing,” Derek explains.

“Is your sister on top of my car right now?” Stiles panics. “She’s gonna get hurt. Derek!”

“You’re upsetting Stiles,” he chastises, helps her through the window and into the car.

“Hi Stiles!” Cora grins from her place in Derek’s lap.

“Are you mad, woman? You could’ve gotten _hurt!_ ”

She shrugs and leans over passing a hand through his hair and down the side of his neck.

“I’d heal.”

“I almost had a heart attack. _I_ wouldn’t heal from tha- _stop petting me_.”

Cora pouts but takes her hand off.

Derek pushes her into the back seat. “We’ve talked about this, Cora.”

“Mom said whoever could escape without an adult noticing and catching them could come meet Stiles sooner.”

“She turned it into a training exercise? _Of course she did_.”

“I think I liked you better when you were all pretending to be human,” Stiles informs her. “And put your seatbelt on.”

“Liar,” Cora sniffs. “And I don’t see why I have to put on my-“

“Put your seatbelt on or so help me god I will turn this car around.”

Derek presses his hand to his mouth and tries really hard not to laugh.

“I didn’t miss this, just so you know,” Cora huffs, passive-aggressively clicking her seatbelt in place, “you mother hen.”

“You’ll thank me when you don’t die in a horrible car crash,” Stiles tells her and takes the turn up to the Hale house.

Derek would like to say he’s surprised to see most of his family out in the front porch, but then he’d be the dirtiest of liars.

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Stiles says in awe. Derek can hear his heartbeat kick up a notch, can smell in the tiny confinement of the car how his scent sweetens and he wants to put his mouth to his throat and remember what an excited happy Stiles tastes like.

“I told you they missed you,” Derek tells him, eyes trained on him because how could he not. How could he miss the way Stiles starts humming with nervousness or the way he half lurches forward before realizing he’s still inside the car and leaning back again.

“You didn’t actually, but yeah,” he breathes, slowing the car down. “Yeah, I missed them too.”

Stiles has barely killed the engine and Laura is at his door, wrenching it open and practically ripping Stiles’ seatbelt off.

“Ohmygod you dork, I missed you so much,” she grins, picking him up off the ground and twirling him around like he weighs nothing. It seems his family forewent any kind of subtlety.

Derek slowly gets out of the car to see Stiles attempting to squeeze the breath out of his sister.

“Laurs,” he grins, flicks her nose. “Missed you too.”

Laura scrunches her nose up and moves to bite him, but Stiles has already turned and ran smack into Aunt Alexis who in all her short glory, picks him up and puts him down again.

“It’s good to have you back,” she grins, wrestling him into a headlock and scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“You’re a terrible person,” Stiles tells her with a laugh, fake struggling until she lets him go.

Stiles straightens up and immediately gets pulled in for a hug by Aunt Olivia who cups a hand over her mouth and whispers in his hear.

Derek squints and strains his ears but can’t hear because Aunt Olivia is smarter than to not use her weird emissary magic thingiemagig when she wants to be secretive.

Stiles laughs and Derek thinks his heart stops for a second there at the sound.

Thankfully no one seems to notice his mild crisis over Stiles’ laughter, too focused on the actual person.

His mother is up next and Derek holds his breath. Because it’s _stupid_ okay. He knows his mom approves of Stiles. She _set this up_ (probably) for fuck’s sake.

But he’s still her beta and it’s instinct, it’s a fishhook deep in his gut that makes him want her to approve of him. _His mate_ , he admits to himself quietly.

No one can hear him in his own head.

If the way Aunt Mai is looking at him is anything to go by that’s probably not entirely right, but he hasn’t ruled out that she’s actually Satan, so.

Stiles blinks at Talia and grins. “Long time no see, Mrs. Hale.”

Talia gives him her private, kind smile. “Hope it doesn’t happen again.”

Stiles shrugs one shoulder and doesn’t say anything, but he does something even better. Something that makes Derek’s wolf, his instinct, respond almost immediately.

He tilts his head just so and bares his throat to his mother. His Alpha.

Mom’s smile grows and she touches her fingers there, uses her hold to pull him in for a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Welcome back.”

She doesn’t mean Beacon Hills. Everyone knows it.

“It’s good to be back,” Stiles grins, right before Thomas and Katie escape from Uncle Michael’s hold and tackle him down to the ground.

Derek laughs and his mother’s eyes snap to him, and she practically beams.

He waits for her to walk calmly to where he’s hanging back, leaning against the Jeep, and then he nuzzles her shoulder a little.

“You look better already,” she tells him, eyes gentle. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, Bunny.”

“You make it sound like I was a terminal patient with a miracle recovery.”

She kisses his temple and says, “Close enough.”

“Yeah.” Derek watches Stiles roll around with his little cousins. “Yeah. Thanks mom.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Derek looks at her and smiles, “Thanks for meddling. Again.”

“I only meddle when it’s important. Or when one of my children is being particularly clueless.”

“Yeah, I know.”

And he does, he still remembers how his mother had pushed him to ask the cute boy in his class out and how it turned out to be one of the best things he’s done.

~*~

Derek chases Laura into the house, tripping over himself and jumping to get his notebook out of her evil, _evil_ grasp.

“Laura give it back!” he cries. “Mom! Laura stole my notebook. Laura! I need that for class.”

Mom comes to the top of the stairs with both hands on her hips and a look so unimpressed they both stop wrestling for the cluster of papers bound together with glue.

“Kids. Behave. You’re not five anymore.”

“But _mom_ ,” Laura grins. “Derek has a _crush_.”

His mother perks up and this is terrible. Derek’s life is terrible. He wants to hide under his bed in shame and stay there.

“No I _don’t_. Give it back, Laura.” He makes a move for it but Laura easily dances out of his grasp.

Mom is downstairs before they can even tackle each other again, ripping the notebook from Laura’s hands and holding it away, “Laura, don’t be like that to your brother. You remember how you were with your crushes in high school, don’t you.”

Laura makes a face and Derek barely suppresses sticking his tongue out at her.

“But _mom_ ,” she whines. “He wrote D.H. + S.S. all over his chemistry notebook. _Inside little hearts_. He drew his crushes’ lips all over. It’s _so cute_.”

Derek can feel his entire face flaming. “Laura stop!”

Laura opens her mouth, but the loud engine of a car they don’t know comes within ear shot and they all stop and turn to the door.

“Are you expecting company?” his mother asks and they both shake their heads.

“Do we need to wait for them to knock to open the door?” Laura asks, eyeing the piece of wood considerately.

“Yes, it’s good manners, Laura.”

The car gets closer and Derek is pretty sure his heart stops because he knows that sound. He’s heard it every time he stayed a little behind so he could see Stiles get out of school and drive away in his beat up Jeep.

“Ohno,” he groans and quickly considers bolting out the back door.

His mother holds him by the back of the shirt and makes him suffer through listening to Stiles park his car and stumble his way to the door.

Derek is going to throw up. Oh _god_. What is he doing here? Did he find out? Is he going to tell Derek to stop staring at him and being a creeper?

There’s a couple moments of loud breathing at the front door, the rustle of movement and then it stops.

“Come on Stiles. Don’t be such a baby. It’s just a house. It’s just a _boy_. A boy with the cutest bunny teeth ever and _ohmygod_ I’m going to die. He’s going to beat me up. You know what I’ll just- not deliver the assignment to Mr. Harris. Yeah, I’m sure he wasn’t serious about me getting expelled-“

Mom grins and it’s something evil.

It’s the way Cora grins at him before she steals his pop tarts.

“Mom, don’t-“

But she’s already across the room and opening the door, looking surprised as can be to find a boy there.

“Oh, hello,” she says, pleasantly.

“H-hi,” Stiles stammers. “Is, um, Derek here?”

“Derek, honey,” she calls out too loudly. “There’s a boy at the door for you.”

“I hate all of you,” he whispers, knowing they’ll hear him.

“And what’s your name?” his mom asks, still playing nice.

“Stiles, m’am. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Oh, the Sheriff’s kid?”

Stiles’ heart is beating so fast that Derek’s actually afraid he’ll have a stroke or something.

He decides to man up and walk to the door.

“Can I ask you what you’re doing here, Stiles?”

“Oh, um, D-Derek got my homework? We partnered up and I he took it by mistake or something. Um, it’s for chemistry class and Mr. Harris – he teaches the class – _hates_ me, like really. He hates me. I’m pretty sure he once emptied my tires after I got an A on a test. That level of hate and he threatened to expel me if I missed homework _again_ , which. It wasn’t even my fault I had to help my mom. With a thing. It’s not important anyway I need my homework and I think Derek has it- and thank god you’re here, hi Derek.”

“Hi,” he waves, tries really hard not to be awkward about it. Goddamnit, he has _game_. Well, Laura says he has game, but he’s pretty sure getting Mrs. Winston to give him twenty dollars because he helped her with her groceries doesn’t count as game.

“Maybe your homework is inside Derek’s notebook,” Laura says coming up behind him and Derek is going to strangle her.

“Why don’t you check, Stiles?” his mom encourages.

Stiles frowns and half squints at both of them, not completely trusting of the situation he’s found himself in, but he takes the notebook anyway and opens it up.

His mouth falls in a little ‘o’ of surprise and his eyes dart quickly towards Derek.

“We’ll leave you boys alone,” his mother has the grace to say, before excusing herself and dragging a protesting Laura away.

Stiles takes a sheet of paper out of between the pages and waves it a little awkwardly. “Homework,” he mutters.

Derek ducks his head and scuffs the tip of his sneaker on the floor, bracing himself because even if Stiles thinks his teeth are cute it doesn’t mean he won’t think Derek is a total Creeper McCreeperson.

“So, I’m uh-“ Derek raises his eyes and sees Stiles blush a little. “I, uh-“ he thrust the notebook into Derek’s chest and then digs into the pocket of his hoodie, taking out a crumpled piece of paper.

“Let’s make a deal. I’ll give you this and- and you have to wait for me to be gone to open it.” Stiles points a finger in a threatening fashion and pokes him in the chest. “So, if your answer is no.” He swallows and looks away, hand scratching at the nape of his neck. “We can just forget about it and hopefully you won’t beat me up. If it’s yes.” He bounces a little, like the mere idea of it excites him. “Then- then you’ll give it back to me tomorrow. Yeah?”

Derek blinks a little at him and then nods dumbly.

“Good, good. Remember. Only when I’m gone. So you won’t punch me in the face.”

And then he shoves the crumpled piece of paper in Derek’s hand and bolts out the door.

Derek lets himself stand there like an idiot, looking after Stiles.

“Damn, you’re kind of tragic, little brother.”

“Shut up, Laura,” he grumbles and carefully uncrumples the paper.

A grin slips across his face before he can stop it.

_Dear Derek,  
Your bunny teeth are the cutest, you’re the only person that consistently laughs at my jokes and you’ve got an ass that just won’t quit. So, date me? I’ll promise I’ll treat you right and please don’t let your older sister beat me up._

___ Yes, let’s ~~elope and have ten children~~ go on a date_

___ No. I’ll see you after school. Bring your gun. You’ll pay for tarnishing the good name of Hale_

___ Check this if I need to move towns to avoid further embarrassment_

_xoxo Stiles_

“Mom!” he shouts. “Do you have the Sheriff’s phone number?”

Ten minutes later Derek is twirling the cord on the landline phone and waiting patiently for Stiles to pick it up.

“Hello?” he hears his crackly voice on the other end.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Derek?” Stiles asks cautiously.

“Yeah. I just wanted to say: see you tomorrow Stiles.”

“Wait, what does that mean? Derek, don’t hang up, De-“

He hangs up and proceeds to go into his room and check Yes with a big stupid heart, using Katie’s strawberry scented pen.

~*~

It’s late when Stiles gets a call from his mother, telling him to come home for dinner. It’s even later when Stiles actually makes it back to his Jeep, dutifully followed by Derek.

He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and shuffles towards the Jeep next to Stiles.

“So,” he says slowly.

Stiles opens the door, but doesn’t get in. “So.”

Derek ducks his head and scuffs his foot on the floor, he can practically feel Stiles smile from here and isn’t that just silly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Derek asks, cautiously.

Stiles grins a little, and leans forward. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says and presses the lightest, quickest of kisses to Derek’s cheek before he hops into his Jeep and drives off.

Derek stands there, hands deeps in his pocket and grinning like a moron.

Yeah, tomorrow sounds good.

**Author's Note:**

> sequel coming soon-ish, I'm definitly aiming within the month, you can [pester me on tumblr for an update here.](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com)


End file.
